All The Real Girls Movie Review:


All the Real Reel Girls or The Dukes of Hazard go Indie!

This critically acclaimed film answers two profound questions: (1) How could an imbecile like George W. Bush occupy the White House and (2) what would happen if you gave money and a camera to a mentally challenged individual with an I.Q. in the 70’s?

The answer to (1) is of course, “the red states,” the home of the military, bibles, and the lowest test scores in the nation; and (2) “All the Real Girls” a film about the people in the first answer. In case you were thinking of a cute, made for TV film by Kirstie Alley, think again. The writer/director of this “film” is the same “auteur” responsible for the dreary, time-wasting drag, “George Washington” of a few years ago. This could be the sequel. A confederacy of dunces to be sure!

If a smart Hollywood director made this paean to white trash, they would be chastised for making a mockery of small southern towns. But, since the tow-headed kid in the movie portrayed the writer/director as a child, it’s evidently OK. Obviously, he is writing what he knows, leaving the rest of us in the world that he doesn’t know. Unless, it’s really a cautionary tale about small town inbreeding and it’s no coincidence that it was released the same week Dolly died.

In order for a person of reasonable intelligence and knowledge to see what some highly regarded critics saw in this film, I highly recommend attending the next “Dead” concert and scoring some orange sunshine or purple haze. Better yet, have Chris Cooper take you into the Florida swamps and score some ghost orchid green powder and snort that. Once thusly medicated, you will be in the surreal state of mind necessary to accept this “effort” on it’s own terms. Then you won’t be discouraged by dialogue written at a fourth grade level (when it works). Or notice hideously stiff performances by some stellar talent including Patricia Clarkson, totally wasted in this role. (In a vain attempt to look “real,” the cast, instead, look preposterously contrived, staged and phony.) Or, remain slack-jawed, witnessing coarse attempts at comedy. In an altered state, you may not be annoyed by ambient noise, masquerading as mood-altering new age, “reflective” music to cue our conscious (or skew our subconscious) into responding to moments of “emotional depth.” Admiring critics have made much of this “feels real” technique, which the writer confirmed was his plan throughout his interviews at film festivals. In “reality” however, aren’t there enough reality-based shows on the little screen? Just because most of the characters in this production would be right at home as “guests” on Jerry Springer, there is no credible aesthetic reason to recommend this low-end style. Don’t politicians pander to the LCD (lowest common denominator) enough as it is? Listen to the president of the red states when he attempts extemporaneous commentary…

As the film dragged on and on and on, I kept waiting for Sam Shepard to wander in with 3 days growth on his face and proffer some words of rural wisdom and provide a payoff for the time invested. He never showed. Basically, this film a really bad soap, done in the form of a play, shot on film for people who think “nucular.” It hangs on its’ small town hooks so languorously, you can almost taste the drool of Jesse Helms as the brown liquid leftover of his chaw, slowly, silently drips off the bottom of his jowls and clings endlessly in suspended animation. Unless, it’s really a cautionary environmental tale showing the horrifying effects that belching smokestacks and working on toxic racecars can have on a population. To be fair though, the closing shot is beautiful and artistic. Kinkade would be envious…

Unfortunately, the elite film aficionados are hailing David Gordon Green, as a “highly talented, up-and-comer.” Another Terrence Malick. They marvel at the “individual style” created by a person only 27 years old. They appear to be automaton cheerleaders, who bought the film’s promotional notes almost verbatim. How they were emotionally seduced by this pandering piffle is a mystery best left for the Psychic Friends Network. Genuine emotions derived from a moving scene can be an epiphany. With “Real Girls,” all you get is disingenuous discharge. If you want a film on a similar subject shot in a small rural town, rent the exceptional “Tully,” in theatres only months ago. If you want to see great young talent, try “Donnie Darko,” the best film of 2001, made by a truly gifted 20-something.

Given that this production was sponsored in part by The Sundance Institute, I think maybe someone snorted the lines from their logo before giving the go-ahead. In a show of how much animosity Jean Doumanian has toward Mr. Allen since their fallout, she has now produced the quintessential Anti-Woodie film. You might as well see “The Hot Chick” for honest schlock instead of this pretentious pap. The mystical morass of “All the Real Girls” joins “Morvern Caller,” also written and directed by a talentless hack (Lynne Ramsay), who is adored by cutting edge critics, as the worst two indie films of the past few months. This fiasco has the early lead as 2003’s most overrated film.

The overwhelming praise poured on this film by the large majority of top critics, shines further light on the debate about whether critics are out of touch with those that actually pay to get in, began by Patrick Goldstein in the LA Times recently. Critics do have a vital role. Independent films need to be celebrated and promoted, but only if they are deserving of notice. It’s OK for anyone, critics included, to say despite being a non-quality production, “ I was moved and/or entertained for personal reasons.” Guilty pleasures like “Jackass, the Movie” are allowed, as long as there is an honest representation without hyperbole that the maker is the next Scorsese. Encouraging the public to expand their cinematic horizons is a noble profession. But to heap praise on this heap is an injustice to the entire industry, and further erodes the credibility of critics with an avid audience in need of competent guidelines. Fortunately, most top-notch critics are correct most of the time. It is a rare occurrence, usually less than 10 times a year, when so many are so wrong. The high praise for “Real Girls” is, alas, one of those rare occurrences. Caveat Emptor!

“The End.”

BlackEye

"All the Real Girls" is a contemporary love story from writer/director David Gordon Green that is very identifiable and original. After 30 minutes
into the film, I felt like I knew all of the characters and was part of their little circle of friends and family.

The story is set in a little North Carolina mill town that has the 22-year old Paul (Schneider) and the 18-year old Noel (Deschanel) falling in love with one another. Their relationship goes through all the parts of the escalation process with situations that could have come across as cliché, but Green’s writing makes them very realistic. Paul and his group of friends, which includes Noel’s overprotective brother Tip, are the type of guys that
work hard, drink every chance they get, break every girl in the town’s heart, and stay in the little town as a comfort zone which they will never step out
of. Paul, especially is one that has been popular with the local ladies, but is hated by using the girls as beneficial to himself. Noel is a kind-hearted
young woman who has been away at boarding school since she was 12 years old. Shortly after she returns home, Paul and her begin seeing one another. Tip becomes furious about the situation because he knows how Paul treats females
and doesn’t want his sister to get hurt. With Noel, Paul is a different boyfriend; he treats her right and finds himself truly in love for the first
time.

As the relationship grows in the film so does your understanding of the characters, it is just that some of Green’s scenes are too long and his
pacing is as slow as molasses. When the credits roll, it seems like the film was three hours long when it is actually nearly two hours in length. Green’s script is overall great and it is so simple that he makes some scenes stand out by their original contexts like why a character is likes pretzels or the value of a ladybug collection to Tip. The characters are just so genuine that anybody from a small town could relate to them.

Green captures the atmospheric colors of the fall and his direction is patient and at times too patient. It seems that Green takes a very causally
laid-back approach to letting his scenes play out. The whole film is character driven, so dialogue is the key, it just seems at times Green could
have sped up some of the interactions and cut back on showing so many pretty shots of North Carolina. He is a talented filmmaker and his next project
will be the film adaptation of "A Confederacy of Dunces".

Paul Schneider, who helped conceive the story of "All the Real Girls" with Green holds his own as the newly in love Paul. Schneider is versatile
with his acting range, in the film he is at times happy, nice, angry, sad, mean, as well as doing some good physical comedy while dressed up as a clown. Zooey Deschanel also goes through a different set of mood swings as Noel;
the chemistry between her and Schneider is critical to both of their p erformances. Shea Wingham has the charisma of a natural actor as Tip and shares some of the film’s best scenes with Schneider. Lastly, the great Patricia Clarkson steals every scene that she is in as Paul’s understandably
reasonable mother.Green’s feature debut was "George Washington," which I have heard has the
same feel and look of "All of the Real Girls". This is one of those independent films that is more touching and recognizable than any of the
recent Hollywood romances, Green just needs to speed up his pacing.

Grade: B

Joseph Tucker

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