Teen Latina Forced In Mainstream Movie
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Being a teenager is hard enough, but once the hormones start raging, all bets are off. These films will help you get through it (or remember it semi-fondly).
Risky and risqué, indie films have always been a home for bold, honest, and controversial visions of teens’ sexuality. Eliza Hittman’s “Beach Rats,” opening this week after bowing at Sundance in January, is another notch in the belt of the sub-genre, a sensitive and often shocking look inside the coming-of-age of a young Brooklyn teen.
Like the best of these films, it’s not all about hormones; it builds on questions about identity and desire. But that’s there too, in sensitively crafted scenes that don’t skimp on reality. Punctuated by some bad choices and an unnerving final act, “Beach Rats” embraces the full spectrum of teen sexuality, even when it’s not exactly alluring.
Here are eight indie films that engage with the subject matter in appropriately intimate ways.
While “Beach Rats” isn’t an official sequel to Hittman’s previous film, “It Felt Like Love,” the filmmaker explores similar themes and structures and both, told from seemingly opposite vantage points. Set during another languorous Brooklyn summer, Hittman’s debut follows 14-year-old Lila (a fearless Gina Piersanti), awkwardly and constantly exposed to the sexual exploits of her older friend Chiara (Giovanna Salimeni), who goes through boyfriends and experiences with the kind of ease that Lila can scarcely imagine. Lila’s desire to be, well, desirable, finds her fixating on a local boy Sammy (Ronen Rubinstein) with a reputation, whom she doggedly pursues in hopes of striking up a relationship. Lila’s emotional immaturity constantly butts up against her deep physical desires, leading her into increasingly fraught situations she’s not equipped to handle. Like “Beach Rats,” Hittman slowly spoons out important revelations, but its the smallest details that hurt — and hit — the most.
Caroline Eselin-Schaefer Underground Railroad – Craft Considerations
Abdellatif Kechiche’s rigorously erotic three-hour romance initially spawned Cannes walkouts before picking up the Palme d’Or, split three ways between Kechiche and his stars Adele Exarchopoulos and Lea Seydoux, proof of the level of dedication all three of them poured into a wild (read: maybe even nightmarish) shoot. While “Blue” earned big buzz because of the obvious — its long-form sex scenes, alternately hot and totally exhausting — that only obscures the finer points that Kechiche and his ladies put on the ill-fated romance between Adele and Emma. Hormonally speaking, it’s essential that the film opens when Exarchopoulos’ Adele is still slogging through high school, all burning desires and deep boredom, the perfect time for her to meet and fall obsessively in love with the slightly older Emma. There’s no love quite like the first, and while Adele’s awakening isn’t just about sex, but also her sexuality, that her most formative of experiences comes at the hands of another woman is simply one facet of a highly relatable love story. Sure, audiences may still flock to the film for its unbridled sex sequences, but there’s no scene more telling than Adele, stuffing her sauce-stained face full of spaghetti, bursting with new desires that have to be redirected somewhere.
Awkward, horny teens eager for sexual satisfaction are hardly underrepresented in the entertainment world — hello, sex comedies — but films that center on teenage girls and their kinkiest desires are still outliers. Jannicke Systad Jacobsen’s Norwegian festival favorite doesn’t shy away from showing off just how gross, weird, and yes, horny as hell girls can be, too, all filtered through the experience of indomitable Alma (Helene Bergsholm). When the film opens, Alma’s sexual awakening is already chugging right along, though it’s about as tragically amusing as it gets, punctuated by routine calls to a phone sex line and a mother who just doesn’t get it. Alma’s life gets both worse and better when a popular peer pokes her with his penis at a casual gathering (romance!), and she refuses to let him live it down, alternately turned out and a little freaked out. Her isolation grows (turns out, high school kids are awful), but her libido won’t be tamed — a strange mix that adds up to a risky, funny feature topped off by some big truths.
Dee Rees’ lauded feature debut (based on her short of the same name) is a revelatory look inside the fraught coming-of-age of Brooklyn teen Alike (Adepero Oduye), as she conceals her sexual desires — and, in many ways, her entire identity — as outside forces push her to be honest about what she wants. That’s a hard enough concept for even the most well-adjusted of teens to face, but for Alike, trapped by a restrictive family and pushed to conceal everything from her wardrobe to her taste in music, it feels nearly impossible. Rees peppers in moments of Alike embracing her true feelings, brief flashes of freedom that hint at who she could be if she didn’t need to hide, but they also live alongside nerve-wracking reveals that drive home just how trapped she is. For Alike, her sexual awakening comes hand and hand with her personal growth, and neither will be the same by the film’s moving conclusion. She is not running, she is choosing.
David Wnendt’s 2013 German drama goes there. And also there, there, and there, right around there, over there, and down there. If there’s an orifice for leading lady Carla Juri to probe in pursuit of pleasure (and maybe even some pain), she’s going to do it. Possibly also with a vegetable. The most out-there, oh-wow coming-of-age story of the century, a movie that makes the pie-loving of “American Pie” look embarrassingly infantile and “Blue Is the Warmest Color” seem suitable for family consumption, “Wetlands” is a riot of sounds and sights that run the gamut between dreamy and nightmarish. But for all its gross-out humor, “Wetlands” also packs an emotional punch, all of it hinging on Juri’s wild-eyed work as the wholly unique Helen, on the cusp of the rest of her life (and super-horny for it).
Marielle Heller’s 2015 Sundance hit “The Diary of a Teenage Girl” is not your average coming-of-age story. Based on Phoebe Gloeckner’s graphic novel 2002 “The Diary of a Teenage Girl: An Account in Words and Pictures,” the film bravely and brazenly turns its taboo subject matter — the sexual awakening of a teenage girl — into a funny, smart, and honest story that entertains as much as it educates. Bel Powley stars as Minnie Goetze, a precocious 15-year-old muddling her way through the swinging scene of seventies-era San Francisco. Like many girls her age, Minnie is struggling to find her place in the world, a journey made all the more difficult by her seemingly unstoppable hormones. As Minnie taps into her burgeoning sexual desires, her life takes a turn — straight into the arms of Monroe (Alexander Skarsgard), her mother’s boyfriend. Heller deftly navigates questions of consent and issues of age, and Minnie makes it clear that she’s making her own decisions, even if they’re probably bad ones.
James Ponsoldt’s 2013 adaptation of the Tim Tharp novel of the same name (beautifully written for the screen by Scott Neustadter and Michael H. Weber) has often been hailed for its sensitive depiction of addiction and its fresh spin on the classic teen romance, but it also takes on sexual awakening in a moving way. Inexperienced Aimee (Shailene Woodley) is seemingly no match for the confident Sutter (Miles Teller), but when the pair fall into a hazy relationship, she bravely embraces the possibility that they could have something real. Inevitably, that includes Aimee losing her virginity to Sutter, in an achingly real sequence that sees Woodley assuming control and guiding the pair into one of the most relatable and emotional love scenes in recent memory. That it also handily deals with issues of consent and doesn’t try to be salacious just for the hell of it makes it even better, and further illustrates the different ways in which both Aimee and Sutter are coming into themselves, with sexuality as just one face of that maturation.
Tucked inside Julia Ducournau’s midnight movie, a visceral, challenging, and often jaw-dropping genre feature about cannibalism, is a tasty treat of a coming-of-age tale. The film follows a young student (Garance Marillier) who discovers some uncomfortable truths about herself (and the world) when she heads off to vet school (kind of the perfect setting for a body horror film), most of them centered on her evolving relationship with meat. All kinds of meat. Initially restrained and severely buttoned up, Marillier’s Justine eventually takes a bite out of her burgeoning desires when a weirdo school tradition activates her hunger in a myriad of ways. Ostensibly a horror movie with bite, Justine’s journey from vegetarian to meat-lover also mirrors her descent into the desire for other kinds of flesh. A parable and a straightforward chiller in one bloody package.
Love all these films but wish mine made the list too -“Toe to Toe”, premiered at Sundance 2009, distributed by Strand.
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‘The Tale’ depicts a grown woman (Laura Dern) working through the realization that she was sexually abused at age 13, graphically depicting those horrifying sexual-assault scenes.
Updated Jan. 20, 2018 7:08PM ET / Published Jan. 20, 2018 7:00PM ET
In many respects, The Tale has been in the making for the last 35 years. But its Sundance Film Festival premiere Saturday afternoon—the first of this year’s festival to receive a standing ovation that we witnessed—is so timely it could very well have been called: #MeToo, The Movie.
The Tale is a memoir film in which writer-director Jennifer Fox confronts the sexual abuse she suffered when she was a 13-year-old girl, having spent the next three-and-a-half decades of her life convincing herself that she was engaged in a “special” relationship with a 40-year-old man, facilitated by a woman she trusted.
Both were people in her life she loved: “Mrs. G” (names were changed from Fox’s own life) was her equestrian trainer, and “Bill” was her running coach. Thirteen-year-old Jennifer is intoxicated by the regal, beautiful Mrs. G, and trusts Bill because of it. When Bill starts to coax Jennifer into a sexual relationship, she convinces herself that they’re in love. But she was just a girl. It was child rape.
Immediately following the post-screening Q&A, in which stars Ellen Burstyn and Jason Ritter broke down in tears talking about the movie, it became clear that this is the film everyone at Sundance will be talking about.
Its resonance—a woman realizing that what she had thought was a consensual sexual relationship was actually child rape—is one thing. That it shows, with purposeful unflinching detail, Jennifer’s rape at age 13 is another. (We witnessed multiple people walk out after this.) But that it doesn’t direct you how to feel about it, or moralize, or redeem, or reassure is its greatest power.
The Tale is relentlessly uncomfortable, and sometimes even aggravating. It wades into the murky waters of a complicated debate currently consuming culture, but doesn’t seek to satisfy or conclude it—which can be infuriating but is also necessary. It lacerates right through that conversation, letting the full range of opinions spill out. Yet it doesn’t seek to stitch it back up again and heal. Because that’s not it’s job.
“Eventually she pieces together an explicit, clear-eyed recollection of the relationship with Bill, and we watch it play out on screen. It’s sickening.”
But The Tale isn’t a linear narrative about a child who was raped. It’s an adult woman’s journey to the horrifying realization that her innocence was preyed on; that she was abused in a way that impacted the rest of her life. It’s her struggle through frustrating notes of denial, rationalization, misremembrance, and anger as she tries to piece together what really happened to her—not what her memory of it was—and why. How she feels about it now is almost an afterthought, until, at a major climax, it isn’t.
Throughout the film, Fox plays with form, storytelling structure, and the truth in jarring ways here—at one point Laura Dern, who plays Jennifer as an adult, is actually in conversation with Isabelle Nelisse, who plays her at age 13—to illustrate the myriad ways in which a person needs to communicate, with others and themselves, past and present, to reckon fully with an event like this.
When we meet Dern’s Jennifer, her mother (Burstyn) is leaving her a litany of emotionally charged voicemails, having just discovered an essay Jennifer wrote when she was 13 titled “The Tale,” which discussed the loving relationship she had with two adults: Bill (Jason Ritter) and Mrs. G (Elizabeth Debicki.) Her mother is beside herself. Suspicions she had 35 years before were true: these adults had taken advantage of her daughter.
“This is why I didn’t tell you,” Jennifer says, dismissing her mother’s concerns. “Can’t I just sit with my own memories?” she pleads, preferring to remember the relationship fondly instead relitigate it as assault. Nearly every line of dialogue hits you like a cannonball, its relevance to the stories and confessions that have been chronicled in the #MeToo movement these last months uncanny. “No,” her mother says. “I want you to nail them.”
She starts to visit people she hadn’t seen in decades, attempting to get a more detailed picture of that time that the years have blurred—part of her desperate search for a reason this happened to her. Or even to answer if anything happened to her.
“You were raped,” she’s told multiple times. “It’s complicated,” she instinctively retorts. She rages at the word “victim,” an indictment of the inherent lack of sensitivity in imposing a victim narrative on anyone who comes forward with a traumatizing story.
Eventually she pieces together an explicit, clear-eyed recollection of the relationship with Bill, and we watch it play out on screen. It’s sickening.
Bill baits her with lines like, “You’re not afraid of life, right, Jenny? You’re not afraid of living?” He and Mrs. G flatter her by telling her that she’s special, that they think of her as an equal, that they think they can trust her with secrets. Then we start to see the rape happen.
Would the film be as powerful if the acts were implied, instead of shown to wincing eyes on screen? Perhaps. But arguably, too, the impact is in bearing witness to the things Bill says and does and their brutal reality.
It starts with Bill getting Jenny to cuddle with him under a blanket. He says she deserves better than silly young boys; that he wants to “save” her from them. He phrases things in a way to make her think it’s her idea, like to take her top off, giving her the false comfort of an agency she doesn’t have.
We see them make out and it is grotesque. We see him, over multiple scenes that take place over a series of weeks, attempt to penetrate her. “We have to keep stretching you open, slowly,” he says. And then again: “No young boy would do this for you.” We see her give him a blowjob when it doesn’t “fit.” Eventually it happens, the camera switching between her face and his as it does.
The film ends with a disclaimer that the sex scenes were shot using an adult body double. Nelisse, who was 11 at the time of filming, only shot the dialogue parts of the scene, which are graphic in their own right. Fox would coach her on how to react properly to the pain of losing one’s virginity: ”Act like you’ve been stung by a bee.”
It would be impossible to list the myriad tenets of the conversation surrounding abuse and victimhood that the film explores. Should there be guilt or shame? Is she emotionally scarred? We wouldn’t purport to answer any of those questions, and maybe the film doesn’t intend to either. And that’s the prickly part of it, the thing that will keep us and anyone who sees it itching long after it ends.
While watching it, you’re not exactly sure what Jennifer wants the outcome of this whole journey to be, and you’re especially not sure what you want it to be either. What are you rooting for, if anything at all? It all builds up to a confrontation between Jennifer and Bill. Is it satisfying? Could it possibly be?
Casting Jason Ritter as Bill was a crucial decision. His image, based on the characters he’s played in Parenthood, Girls, Kevin (Probably) Saves the World, is that of the consummate nice guy—the adorable, safe, all-around “good” guy. “The whole idea was to take out of the closet the idea that perpetrators aren’t monsters that we can pick out,” Fox said after the film. Mission accomplished.
There was an air of speechlessness as the standing ovation died down. How does someone talk about this film? What do we even say? It’s something that Burstyn herself acknowledged, before beginning the dialogue in an impassioned, immediate way: “The exploitation of innocence is a deep, criminal crime, and it’s time now, right now, in this moment in our history, to change it.”
But she wasn’t done. “And I want to thank Donald Trump for that disgusting tape that he made that we all heard that was the final straw that broke the camel’s back,” she said to rousing applause. “And we can now at last deal with this problem that has gone on for centuries all over the world. This film is giving voice to it.”
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Congressional candidate Mike Carey claims he’s an “outsider.” But he spent 20 years as an energy lobbyist and had a front-row seat to one of Ohio’s biggest corruption scandals.
Updated Jul. 08, 2021 11:25AM ET / Published Jul. 08, 2021 4:50AM ET
He’s the Trump-annointed candidate running to make the Columbus suburbs MAGA again. But while former energy lobbyist Mike Carey is happy to tout the former president’s endorsement in the GOP primary, he’s not quite as eager to talk about his proximity to one of Ohio’s most expensive corruption scandals.
Carey’s campaign website touts him as an “outsider” who “spent his career holding politicians accountable and fighting for working class families.” But it only vaguely mentions his “20+ year career as an executive in the American energy industry.”
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Teen Latina Forced In Mainstream Movie
