By Stephen Young
By Stephen Young
By Stephen Young
By Jim Schutze
By Rachel Watts
By Lauren Drewes Daniels
This formula hasn't changed, but the modern cinematic high school is packed with more and more outcasts, stranger and cooler outcasts, and these heroes are usually mainstream enough to cross over clique boundaries or even "convert." Kat (Julia Stiles), the cantankerous older sister from 10 Things I Hate About You, begins the story as a completely rigid pseudolesbian-type. She eventually comes around to meet everyone else (the brooding motorhead who loves her; her perky, pretty little sister; the AV geek; the greasy, good-looking "Chachi") somewhere near the middle, saying, essentially, we can all get along.
James Van Der Beek's Jon Moxon in Varsity Blues, a second-string quarterback in a West Texas town obsessed with high school football, runs way outside the boundaries of "accepted" behavior, ripping apart a ball program that has kept the town's young men under its thumb for generations. The rest of the team follows his lead, and they all work together to destroy the old status quo and create a new one that everyone likes.
Yes, this is a simplification of the irrational rifts that have always divided kids in the real world, where two smart guys with trench coats and shotguns decide that they've had enough ribbing and that everyone else will pay. It's hard to keep teen angst at a healthy distance when your world consists of a locker full of homework and a hallway full of assholes, but the New Teen Cinema offers the antidote: perspective. And look at how silly it all is. Keep being weird, the films says, keep being yourself, and you will be rewarded.
The outcast-as-hero idea is taken to more artistically complex levels in two of the films, Election and Rushmore, that almost don't belong in the genre. (Ads for Election have touted the phrase "adult comedy.") Max Fisher, a tortured creative prankster who practically runs the prep school Rushmore Academy, washes away every stereotype and can only be called a genius. He builds his own world everywhere he goes--writing plays, starting clubs, striking up relationships with powerful billionaires--and asks the other kids to join him. And in the end, they do.
But Reese Witherspoon's Tracy Flick, from Election, may be the one true, unredeemable outcast in the lot. She paces the eerily realistic halls of a Nebraska high school with such single-minded ambition that anything diabolical she does to become class president is offset by her sheer, complete, and universal loneliness. We feel sorry for her and realize that her brand of unchecked eccentricity will never clear up, that her plotline won't have a satisfying climax during the prom scene, that she is hopeless. Her story, more than anything, goes against the mood of the New Teen Cinema.
Lesson Two: The classics rock.
A father forbids his youngest daughter to date until his older, crustier one does. A whole town gets a lobotomy so that they'll stick to the societal norms. A man takes a bet that he can "tame" a wild woman from a lower social class. A team of sexual tricksters deflower fragile virgins for fun and profit. Any of this sound familiar?
Every great civilization has recast the best stories from the Old World into its own vernacular and style, and just as the Romans rejiggered Greek mythology, the New Teen Cinema is retelling the history of the world with its own Oxy-clean faces and Skecher-clad cast. Amy Heckerling's remake of Jane Austen's Emma as Clueless back in 1995 worked so well that it is truly amazing this trend didn't come together faster. Now, 10 Things... has begun scattering Shakespeare's folios down the hallways of the new high school, and will be followed this year by O (Othello on the basketball court) and Near in Blood (Macbeth on the football field).
She's All That did Pygmalion one better, especially with that choreographed prom-dance number, and Cruel Intentions made prep-school sense of Les Liaisons Dangereuses. What's surprising is how masterfully fun these adaptations are, how great-looking the cast and in-the-moment the dialogue. They do what Shakespeare did best--entertain the masses with classic fables worked in the language of the day--and it works. But how long will this last before we start seeing "fresh" remakes of Saturday Night Fever and Smokey and the Bandit?
Lesson Three: Adults do not exist. And if they do, they're corrupt, stupid, and backward.
Of course this is the case in a teen fantasy world, but it might come as a surprise that the new high school admits no adults not to allow the kids to party, but to keep out the old folks' unsavory morals. The writers, audience, and subjects of the New Teen Cinema are all Boomer spawn, products of households where divorce was a 50-50 shot, and there's a clear bitterness embodied in the absence of adults. The comical, pastoral world of Cruel Intentions hosts spoiled prep-schoolers who speak in refined accents and plot sexual high jinks in vast, lavish, vacant apartments. Where did all the adults go?
In 10 Things..., the counselor, Ms. Perky, is writing a porn novel; the English teacher curses and rages; and the soccer coach confiscates a bag of weed from a kid in detention and then suspiciously swipes Chee-tos from another. Deviants! In the gorefest-comedy Idle Hands, the protagonist doesn't notice for days that his parents have been murdered. This summer's Dick reveals that two high school girls--not a couple of bushy-haired, tie-wearin' reporters--exposed that whole Watergate thing. And in Varsity Blues, Moxon goes head-to-head with Jon Voight's evil establishment football coach, fighting against things important in the Old World: war, manhood, district titles. Moxon just wants to go to a good school and have a decent life. He's seen where "being a man" got his father: on the lawn, drinking beer and yelling at his kids. Here, it's pure good vs. evil, new vs. old, son vs. father. Easy.