The Myth of the American Sleepover (15)

 

Anthony Quinn
Thursday 30 August 2012 19:14 EDT
Comments
Madi Ortiz in ‘The Myth of the American Sleepover’
Madi Ortiz in ‘The Myth of the American Sleepover’ (Rex Features)

Your support helps us to tell the story

From reproductive rights to climate change to Big Tech, The Independent is on the ground when the story is developing. Whether it's investigating the financials of Elon Musk's pro-Trump PAC or producing our latest documentary, 'The A Word', which shines a light on the American women fighting for reproductive rights, we know how important it is to parse out the facts from the messaging.

At such a critical moment in US history, we need reporters on the ground. Your donation allows us to keep sending journalists to speak to both sides of the story.

The Independent is trusted by Americans across the entire political spectrum. And unlike many other quality news outlets, we choose not to lock Americans out of our reporting and analysis with paywalls. We believe quality journalism should be available to everyone, paid for by those who can afford it.

Your support makes all the difference.

Like Richard Linklater's Dazed and Confused, David Robert Mitchell's feature debut follows a group of teenagers during a single summer night.

But where Linklater's film was a raucous, school's-out affair, this is a more considered, reticent picture of kids drifting through their suburban (Detroit) neighbourhood and only dreaming of what might be.

Rob (Marlon Mortin) catches a glimpse of a blond heartbreaker in a supermarket aisle, his reverie broken by a tannoy voice announcing that his mother's waiting for him at the checkout. Maggie (Claire Sloma) fancies the swimming-pool attendant and is brave enough to do a Ginger Rogers routine at a party to impress him.

Scott (Brett Jacobsen) is a college boy returning home and yearning over a high school photograph of himself with the twin sisters with whom he used to hang around. Mitchell's great forte is mood, achieved almost through an absence of the usual teen standards: no Facebook, no texting, no cries of "loser" or "whatever", not even a fight.

This is a night of sidelong glances, wistful gazes, a few beers and a tender kiss here and there; these teenagers are more watchful, more chaste, almost more respectful, than Hollywood's amped-up version of the breed. Perhaps a little more drama wouldn't have gone amiss, but then eventlessness is part of its purpose. This is teenage as an American Truffaut would see it, with a woozy charm reminiscent of Sofia Coppola's The Virgin Suicides.

Join our commenting forum

Join thought-provoking conversations, follow other Independent readers and see their replies

Comments

Thank you for registering

Please refresh the page or navigate to another page on the site to be automatically logged inPlease refresh your browser to be logged in