Me and Earl and the Dying Girl is one of those rare teenage movies that actually depicts teenagers. I never said it does it all that well, but at least it gives it an honest effort. It often feels true to the spirit of youth in that the film is slow, uncertain, ordinary, and slightly crude. The main characters aren't supermodels (although they ain't ugly), and they carry themselves in an exaggerated, basic form of what a teenager truly is. It is a refreshing and hopeful move away from the action-packed and otherwise soulless frameworks of modern teenage films, all the way from ridiculous vampires to ridiculous dystopias.
Despite this impressive regression to reality, it isn't perfect, coming off more as a stepping stone to a (perhaps exclusively teenage) cinematic era of real people doing real things. The teenagers are way too intelligent, always ready with a witty remark to shatter conversation barriers that most teenagers would find almost insurmountable. Everyone has a powerfully distinguishing feature, whether they're gorgeous, creative, or just plain weird. It's as if a thirty-year old man clinging onto the vestiges of his youth decided to write a book about a segment of his life that he barely remembers. And it is.
But all this is simply a minor problem. The script's bumps are more than made up for by the wonderful acting. This film was one of the few where I could actually appreciate the acting as more than a vehicle for the plot. Thomas Mann, Olivia Cooke and RJ Cyler have brilliant chemistry as the main characters of this film. Their dynamic is always brilliantly up-and-down, ranging from friendly conversation to boiling rage. It is always nice to see young actors who can actually act.
And now for the plot. This is where the beauty of the film resides, and also its major, unavoidable drawback. First, its beauty. Greg, a self-loathing teenager with a fear of commitment (typical teenager, either they hate or love themselves) spends his days making parodies of classic films with his buddy Earl (who he prefers to call his "coworker"). His life seems aimless and disconnected from the real world, as if he is wrapped up in himself so tightly that he refuses to let reality penetrate his own defenses. After his mother's incessant urging, he is forced into a "doomed friendship" with Rachel, another teenage girl who just happens to have a terminal illness (hence the "dying girl" of the title). Through this girl, whom he immediately establishes a connection with, he overcomes his own fear of connection, and eventually becomes attuned to his own creative spirit, which he reveals to us in the beautiful, heartbreaking climax of the film.
But when I thought about it, I realized that I had a problem with all this. This movie relied on character development (and to a lesser extent cinematography and acting). The main character developed. But at what cost? The death of a young girl. Do filmmakers have the right to kill someone who has barely lived in pursuit of a theme that could be achieved using much more subtle methods? Must we face the death of someone we love in order to change? This common theme (perhaps even a celebration) of death in teenage films is disturbing.
So like I said, it gives it an effort, and that effort is much appreciated. But the exploitation of death is a bit more than I am able to admire.
Despite this impressive regression to reality, it isn't perfect, coming off more as a stepping stone to a (perhaps exclusively teenage) cinematic era of real people doing real things. The teenagers are way too intelligent, always ready with a witty remark to shatter conversation barriers that most teenagers would find almost insurmountable. Everyone has a powerfully distinguishing feature, whether they're gorgeous, creative, or just plain weird. It's as if a thirty-year old man clinging onto the vestiges of his youth decided to write a book about a segment of his life that he barely remembers. And it is.
But all this is simply a minor problem. The script's bumps are more than made up for by the wonderful acting. This film was one of the few where I could actually appreciate the acting as more than a vehicle for the plot. Thomas Mann, Olivia Cooke and RJ Cyler have brilliant chemistry as the main characters of this film. Their dynamic is always brilliantly up-and-down, ranging from friendly conversation to boiling rage. It is always nice to see young actors who can actually act.
And now for the plot. This is where the beauty of the film resides, and also its major, unavoidable drawback. First, its beauty. Greg, a self-loathing teenager with a fear of commitment (typical teenager, either they hate or love themselves) spends his days making parodies of classic films with his buddy Earl (who he prefers to call his "coworker"). His life seems aimless and disconnected from the real world, as if he is wrapped up in himself so tightly that he refuses to let reality penetrate his own defenses. After his mother's incessant urging, he is forced into a "doomed friendship" with Rachel, another teenage girl who just happens to have a terminal illness (hence the "dying girl" of the title). Through this girl, whom he immediately establishes a connection with, he overcomes his own fear of connection, and eventually becomes attuned to his own creative spirit, which he reveals to us in the beautiful, heartbreaking climax of the film.
But when I thought about it, I realized that I had a problem with all this. This movie relied on character development (and to a lesser extent cinematography and acting). The main character developed. But at what cost? The death of a young girl. Do filmmakers have the right to kill someone who has barely lived in pursuit of a theme that could be achieved using much more subtle methods? Must we face the death of someone we love in order to change? This common theme (perhaps even a celebration) of death in teenage films is disturbing.
So like I said, it gives it an effort, and that effort is much appreciated. But the exploitation of death is a bit more than I am able to admire.