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Beanie Feldstein Charms in Affable Dramedy of Music Criticism and Self-Discovery


In arts criticism, being negative is the easiest thing in the world. But negativity sells -which is why it’s also the most popular. Hence why on the internet, the largest platformed outlets and personalities who judge art tend to bask in negativity, often mocking a subject with an unearned level of scorn and with the flimsiest arsenal imaginable. I’m mostly familiar with this approach’s movie commentator adherents, but am aware that the trend is alive and well in the realm of books and music as well. The lattermost is where Beanie Feldstein’s Johanna Morrigan cultivates a niche for herself after failed attempts at sincerity in How to Build a Girl, Caitlin Moran’s adaptation of her own novel, directed by Coky Giedroyc -and for that it feels searingly relevant in spite of its well-worn themes and structure.
The story is semi-autobiographical, inspired by the early years of Morans’ career, which began with a job at a music magazine when she was only sixteen. The ease with which her avatar acquires the same is one of the films’ more atrocious modern fictions, but its’ excusable enough in context. The film on a whole is just so warm and well-intentioned as it charts the personal growth and rise to editorial fame through a ruthless print persona hiding this poor young girl from Wolverhampton, that the hasty pacing doesn’t negate the substantive weight of each new plot beat.
The plot itself is more than a little familiar. Obviously it’s got shades of Almost Famous, but there are a lot of other calling cards of music-oriented coming-of-age movies (such as last years’ Blinded by the Light) at play as well, including a couple clichéd falling-outs and the critical moment of self-realization. But while the prevalence of these moments leave little to surprise you, never are they dull. There’s a freshness to Morans’ writing and most of all a passion to Feldsteins’ performance that breathes new life into each scene that we’ve seen before.
Feldstein is really the glue that holds the movie together. Though her Midlands accent isn’t quite believable, her spirit and emotions really are. She’s in full control of this character, whether in the insecure but boldly sentimental Johanna, or the identity created for her writing career: the brash, confident, and stylish Dolly Wilde. And of course, she’s really funny and charismatic as either. This is a girl with a lot of feelings and a voice that is desperate to express them. But her defining trait is her earnest honesty, seen at its’ most delightful in her first encounter with soulful Irish singer John Kite, played against type by Alfie Allen -who actually manages to be really cool and charming in the role, proving a versatility I’ve suspected since his early Game of Thrones days. He’s exactly the sort of musician teenage girls would fall for, and Johanna absolutely does.
This directly precipitates her transformation into a take-down critic, as her jubilant, lovelorn review of his song is deemed inappropriate for the populist magazine she’s found herself working for. As this part of her story manages to be both conventionally unpleasant and materially distinctive, the script fundamentally emphasizes how false, shallow, and even immature Johanna’s new style and the fame it brings the publication is. In things such as the subtly misogynist work environment and explicit bro culture of the outlet she writes for, the character of like institutions is drawn obnoxious and incorrigible. At one point she wins an ironic award for “Best Asshole” (the trophy is literally a likeness of a butt), and you can feel Moran, who has continued to be a cultural commentator and is well aware of this new criticism status quo of propagating negativity, teeming with resentment over the appraisal of such dishonest, exploitative work. The unhealthy affect this has on Johanna personally is felt as well, the way it somewhat dictates her sexual proclivities and how it hurts her relationships with her parents (Paddy Considine and Sarah Solemani) and her otherwise supportive brother (Laurie Kynaston).
The writing and acting support this character journey and overall thesis well, yet the movie falters for its under-use of a key ingredient. There’s a streak of magical realism to How to Build a Girl that Giedroyc doesn’t seem wholly comfortable with for whatever reason, despite dotting the films’ otherwise banal structure with a nice touch of imagination. Its’ most recurring character is Johanna’s ‘Wall of Goddesses’, a wall of her bedroom full of photographs of inspirational figures who she imagines talk to her. It mostly functions as a nifty cameo space (Michael Sheen as Freud, Sue Perkins and Mel Giedroyc as the Brontës, Jameela Jamil as Cleopatra, Sharon Horgan as Jo March, etc.). More remarkable though are a couple atmospheric fantasy sequences involving Kite; one of which -where in seeming homage to “Take on Me”, a golden hued image of him comes alive from a billboard to walk Johanna home is particularly incandescent. Yet these sequences and this attitude towards the films’ reality is applied sparingly, to the degree they feel like digressions rather than the vital components of the films’ identity they should be. Certainly that sequence just illustrated is the films’ most memorable.
 But regardless of missed opportunities, How to Build a Girl remains quite a sweet film. Though it mocks and criticizes the easy avenues of modern culture writing, the film is never cynical, maintaining the excitably fervent attitude of Johanna, even in her more outrageous moments. It’s a great showcase for Feldstein’s talent, Allens’ as well, and is the right kind of meaningful upbeat fluff and optimism that can make a day brighter in these uncertain times.

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