Synth music plays and Heather number 1 (Walker) wears the red scrunchie of power but has no sense of responsibility. The Heathers have absolute authority at Westerburg High, until they die! The writer and director of this never lived up to their potential. New boy JD (Slater) lurks. This is a tart drama with no ordered discipline of social realism. This is an okay chronicle of teenage pathology that has irresistible energy. Kurt and Ram (Fenton and Labyorteaux) are the relentlessly moronic bullying football players who make the big mistake of menacing JD. Nowadays JD the utterly crazed rebel would be in jail for the gun ‘prank’ he pulled on them in the cafeteria.
The cruel confusing realities of teen life and the lack of sense of any real learning going on at the school dominate. There are logically indefensible logic gaps (JD not getting expelled for the gun ‘prank’, the unnoticed bomb, the ending and the utterly inept coroner). Heather number 1 drags Veronica to a party with frat boys where things go badly. JD and Veronica play another ‘prank’ and exit Heather number one.
There is dank dialogue, no ethical complexity and nobody is clearly moved and little warmth is displayed. JD’s weird father lurks. Heather number one’s hair moves when she’s in her coffin. Nobody intervenes when Kurt and Ram beat up a guy after the funeral. This is not an insightful study. People see it as their inalienable right to be awful in this deliciously nasty movie. It’s God v Veronica’s boyfriend and God’s losing. Sadly after many fun jokes about mineral water and friends who are bad for you, ordained normality must be restored for the cop out ending.
Stock unpleasant bully behaviour is greeted with greater aggression as Kurt and Ram overstep a mark and pay for it. You can see them breathing in their coffins. Their joint funeral complete with football helmets and the movie’s most famous line is hilarious. There is no social death for JD and Veronica’s crassness. But JD the psycho faces defeat and Veronica gets away with all her crap.
“You don’t have anything for her either.”
“I LOVE MY DEAD GAY SON!”
“Talk and feel. Together.”
“Praise Jesus. Hallelujah!”
“God, aren’t they fed yet?”
“I’d pay Madonna a million bucks to sit on my face and have a ride like the Kentucky Derby.”
“Grow up, Heather. Bulimia is so 87.”
“Can you bleach out urine stains?”
“Made proper use of the word myriad.”
“Let’s laugh at the hippy.”
“Sexually perverse photography exhibits involving tennis rackets.”
“What do you think I’m going to do with it? Take out her tonsils?!?”
The opportunistic in laws get worse, this seldom seems cerebral, this was not an insightful study and was not strikingly engaged or fiercely determined. I felt scorn for the dad. The wife (Kahn) has big hair, a mobster (LaPaglia) woos Betsy’s sister (Sheedy) and a brother in law (Pesci) is a jerk. Betsy cuts up her 80s wedding dress to make a hideous dress. This was not vibrantly creative and had bad acting. This was sap but is okay. Dylan Walsh plays the groom and Samuel L Jackson is in this somewhere but praise is not forthcoming.
“They leave mud around.”
“At your slumlord trial.”
“I would not give up until he did.”
“Kept escalating, like the arms race.”
“We can’t pay for this.”
“A real prick, just like you.”
“Do I like refuse removal?”
“I say this with respect.”