Back in the much-mythologised 1980s, teen movies typically meant the lovely, squishy romantic dramedies of John Hughes. It is considered heresy to quibble with such ancient sacred artefacts, so we’ll gloss over the fact that films such as The Breakfast Club, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off and Sixteen Candles – wonderful as they are – traded on wish-fulfilment and teenagers who seldom sounded like teenagers.
Kelly Fremon Craig’s splendid directorial debut harks back to Greatest Hughesian Hits and even improves on the formula by adding real-world, dank dialogue. Scooch over Mean Girls.
Pitched somewhere between the double-edged wit of Clueless and the rawness of Confessions of a Teenage Girl, The Edge of Seventeen's whip-smart script is simultaneously uproariously funny, heart-breaking, and keenly observed. The resulting emotional rollercoaster soars ever higher – before plummeting – with Hailee Steinfeld behind the driving wheel. Sometimes literally. And without her mom's permission.
Steinfeld’s mouthy, complicated heroine Nadine seems to know – as the movie does – that her various dramz are just that. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t painful in the moment. (When she accidentally Facebook messages the older guy she’s crushing on, you’ll want to curl up and die on her behalf.)
Ranting at her hilariously sardonic teacher and reluctant confident Mr Bruner (Woody Harrelson, having the most screen fun he's had this side of Kingpin), Nadine reveals a clutter of genuine tragedies (including the death of her dad) and perceived atrocities, most grievously the recent coupling between her popular jock older brother Darian (Everybody Wants Some's Blake Jenner) and her long-time best pal Krista (Haley Lu Richardson).
This terrible betrayal, as Nadine sees it, makes for fractious family life and loneliness on the schoolyard. Further complications arise when she finds herself torn between her sweet, artistic and very keen friend-zone suitor Erwin (Hayden Szeto) and older bad boy Nick (Alexander Calvert). It all blows up. And blows up again.
Hormonal strife is seldom this joyous, and the tremendous verbal sparring between Steinfeld and Harrelson brings a modern, post-ironic gloss to the rat-a-tat delivery of Golden Age Hollywood comedy. Atli Örvarsson’s score adds unexpected textures to the mayhem.
