Mandy Lane

Mandy: Boy magnet

This nicely shot but basic teen slasher is pretty hard to sell. Jonathan Levine’s All The Boys Love Mandy Lane follows in the footsteps of Scream, and I Know What You Did Last Summer, but lost me somewhere along the way.

The plot’s as basic as 3 girls and 3 boys heading out to a ranch owned by one of their parents to celebrate the end of their junior year at school. On the first night, one by one they start to disappear, and soon realise someone is stalking through the night, picking them off.

The twist at the end is neither predictable, nor that surprising, although the last 10 minutes of the film were the most entertaining; however, I’m not sure the director intended the spontaneous laughter which crept out from the preview theatre as the movie climaxed.

The problem with this movie lies largely in their age — they are pubescent kids. Not sexy pert 18-year-olds, but 16-year-olds who have barely developed hips or broken voices yet.

They are, however, drinking, smoking, drugging, driving, and of course in true American style, using guns. As a woman, I found the overt sexualisation of the girls in incredibly bad taste.

Mandy Lane (Amber Heard) is an early bloomer, thrusting her newly-developed breasts in the boys’ faces, while simultaneously telling them she’s not interested in kissing them.

I thought the casting was peculiar — Mandy Lane herself was rather girl-next-doory, no more beautiful or interesting than the others, the only difference being she ran her hands ‘provocatively’ through her hair so many times I wanted to throw my GHDs at her.

In comparison, the other girls Chloe (Whitney Able) and Marlin (Melissa Price) are desperate to win the boys affections, having already gained huge sexual confidence — it seems that in Hollywood, if you’re not a virgin, you’re a slut.

The girls frolic about in their underwear and, as if straight from a teenage boy’s wet dream, give blowjobs, flash their breasts, and suck on each other’s fingers. I was only surprised they didn’t include a naked pillow fight. The guys are considerably more interesting, and better cast, including ranch-hand Garth, played sympathetically by Anson Mount.

The boys’ insecurities are infinitely more palatable and realistic — trying to look cool in front of the girls, and begging Garth not to phone ‘the olds’ on discovering the half-smoked doobies and empty bottles of beer.

Some of the camerawork, however, stands this film out from others of the same genre, and there are some both heartstopping and genuinely funny moments.

The film does explore teenage angst and develop its characters, it just does it in an obvious, formulaic way, all the while objectifying women. At under 90 minutes it mercifully doesn’t stretch out the wafer-thin plot, and in fairness it held my concentration.

If indecent exposure and over sexualisation of pubescent teens doesn’t freak you out, then you might have a chance to love this film. For me it went too far in Hollywood’s simultaneous piss-taking and masturbation over young girls.

2/5

This review was brought to you by the film buffs at Screenjabber.

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