Women's Cinema Fest, On Love

The incredibly True Adventures of Two Girls in Love

directed by Maria Maggentis

starring Laurel Hollomon and Nicole Parker

opening the International Festival of Women's Cinema

April 25 through May 4

Although "The Incredibly True Adventures of Two Girls In Love" is actually too riddled with cliches to make it incredibly true, it has enough sincere moments to bring back those high school years. Writer/director Maria Maggenti makes some mistakes in her debut film, but she compensates for it by introducing us to Laurel Hollomon.

Hollomon is a talented actress whom one would suspect of being Winona Ryder and Dave Pirner's love child if she weren't in the same age group. Her effortless portrayal of a 17-year-old outsider is what makes this movie worth seeing. Thought the script lapses into predictability sometimes, a few experimental angles don't quite make the grade and the other actors' believability fades in and out, Laurel is always endearing and easy to relate to.

"Two Girls" begins with feet. The camera focuses on one pair of high heels and one pair of clumpy thick shoes two-stepping around a restroom floor to the rhythm of heavy breathing. Obviously this is a couple. Circling upwards, we see one skirt, one pair of baggy jeans. One mane of long hair and one cropped head. Then a horn honks outside, both look up from their face-mashing, and--hey, look--they're both women.

Randy Dean (Hollomon) is a high school senior who lives with her aunt and her aunt's girlfriend. Her aunt's exgirlfriend has just come for an extended "visit," bringing a two-ton suitcase. Randy is having an affair with a married woman whom she meets intermittently in the bathroom of the gas station where Randy works. Complications arise when Evie Roy (Nicole Parker) shows up at the gas station with an alleged flat tire and a phobia of pressure pumps. Again, the camera watches only their legs as Evie runs around, trying to help Randy and yet stay out of the way ("Oh my God I'm such a spaz!" she cries). The reduced view captures the sexual potential underlying the situation as, inevitably, their legs bump or touch in passing. The owners of said legs either do not notice (Evie) or do not acknowledge (Randy) this sexual tension.

Randy and Evie are that movie staple, complete opposites who just have to fall for each other. Evie is rich; Randy is poor. Evie drives a Range Rover; Randy checks the tires. Randy hits the road in her garage mechanic gear, while Evie obviously has a charge account at the Gap. Randy is failing out of school and ostracized as a "diesel dyke." Evie is popular, college-bound, and, until she meets Randy, straight. Although a series of scripted "coincidences" throw them together, we never really understand why Evie is so drawn to Randy. Evie starts out ignorant of the sexual tension around her and ends up actively creating it. "Unshelter me," she invites Randy, who complains about Evie's naivete. Well-placed voice-overs let us get to know Randy, but Evie remains an unknown. It's not a mystery why anyone would fall for Randy, but it is a mystery why Evie does.

Once the relationship is established, it illustrates fairly well, if simplistically, the fluidity of sexuality. "I didn't say I was gay, I said I was in love," Evie tells her friends. For her, the relationship is not a political statement or even a major change; it's just another relationship. Her transition into the relationship is confusing. There is no common thread between her roles as sheltered straight girl and as Randy's girlfriend. Randy, whose room is plastered with gay pride posters, has always thought of herself as a lesbian. Although Evie assumes that Randy knows everything about being a lesbian, Randy has never been in love before.

Unfortunately, many of the film's other characters are merely cardboard props that pop up at convenient times: Evie's closet sensitive boyfriend, her shallow in-group friends, Randy's family, her timid gay-guy friend and her aunt, a grump who snaps at everyone in the house like Archie Bunker with PMS.

The usual madhouse atmosphere of women milling through Randy's house is briefly suspended once, when her aunt mentions that it's difficult to be poor and have to provide for friends and family. Having explained the chip on her shoulder, the story resumes. Most of the characters have one scene where they come to life, but then we learn little else about them.

Welcome exceptions to the carboard rule are Evie's doting mother, a divorcee who suffocates "Mommy's perfect little girl" with affection and tries to manipulate every aspect of Evie's life with the veiled threat, "After all, if you can't tell me, you can't tell anyone." Guess how she reacts when she finds her daughter in bed with another girl. Also fun to watch is Wendy, Randy's married-woman girlfriend from Scene One. She is a key source on what's being worn in today's malls. You can try not to laugh as Fashion's Public Enemy #1 saunters by in a short red raincoat with zebra trim or green terrycloth short shorts balanced over lethal-weapon heels.

The implausibility of this love story reflects the nature of first love. Evie and Randy perform all the time-honored rituals of young lovers; they try out each other's music, swap reading lists, and talk about their families. Beneath that, one suspects that little is there. But they persist in creating their own lovers' world, despite the dissent surrounding them. The film doesn't work too hard to escape cliches of high school life and speaks most directly to kids who are still in high school. But "Two Girls" is not about high school or lesbianism, it's about love--with a dash of humor.