One recurring element of modern filmmaking I've heard being described as a constant aversion is the lack of crafty, stimulating, alluring opening credits. I personally believe that, as long as there is a balance between plainly straightforward and jaw-droppingly stunning opening credits, I'm not particularly bothered. However, I feel that the balance isn't as strong or sturdy as it should be, so I can't say that I don't notice it and yeah, it would be nice for filmmakers to implement more vision and artistry in the opening credits, like a poppy, vibrant opening musical number in a Broadway play.
However, the way the straightforward presentation of opening credits is utilized in Eighth Grade is actually one of the most potent, subterraneously ballsy, and narratively fitting usages of this unadorned method for an opening that I've ever seen. Those cold, white credits with the bland, lifeless font perfectly mirrors the ruthlessly on-the-nose nature of this epoch of adolescence. Their simple fade-ins and fade-outs seem to resemble the feelings of helplessness and uselessness that some teenagers of this age do tend to feel, particularly our protagonist, Kayla. And when that title card drops with that customary "thud," it definitely captures the existential horror that seems to envelop during this period of one's youth.
This. Is. Eight Grade!
The film revolves around the aforementioned Kayla, an eight-grader who is getting ready to graduate. She's a shy, quiet type, adorned with acne, enraptured by her phone and ostensibly is aspiring to be a YouTube star, constantly posting videos of advice. However, her quiet, self-effacing temperament is a mild bone of contention with her, as it leads her to earn the superlative of "Most Quiet." Ignited by this, she sets off to build her confidence and find herself, along with maybe earning her crush, Adrien, who had been voted "Best Eyes."
I've always been an acolyte of Bo Burnham and his weird, satirical, skewering brand of comedy, going back to his Rehab Center for Fictional Characters bit. I knew he was skilled as a musician, but I never knew he was such a musical technician. He actually doesn't play a note of the score, rather instead leaving that to British electro-composer, Anna Meredith, but this film showed me that his knack for music goes beyond knowing how to play an instrument. It extends mentally and emotionally, having a sixth sense for the placement of music.
In this film, the score treats each scene as a new experience for its lead character and assists in the narrative progression. When Kayla is at a pool party, the score couples the initial rush/external enjoyment with the internal horror brought upon by Kayla's self-image. A specific ingenious move on the part of both Meredith as a composer and Burnham as a director comes during the dinner table scene, which is the first time in the film that we see the interaction between Kayla and her father. Initially, Kayla is locked into her phone, blaring music, which we hear with all the volume, intensity, and vigor that Kayla certainly must feel, too. During the conversation, Kayla has to alternate between being alone at her phone and having to begrudgingly converse with her father.
After her final plea with her father to be on her phone, her father relents, but at that point on, we don't get to hear the music anymore, thus Burnham gets to convey the feeling of having such a vibrant, up-to-the-minute, whizzing buzz of a safe space her phone provides, yet opposing that with the actual reality of what Kayla is doing: shutting herself off and submitting to a fantasy. As well, for the initial spurt of music we are allowed to hear, Meredith shows us how much ass she kicks as a musician, not just in this scene, but in every other scene. Hell, she is the composer and she definitely shows us how she got the job.
Burnham really shines as a writer/director. He is a comedian and he utilizes some vulgar, immature, and low-brow sensibilities, but it leads to some big laughs, including Kayla trying to find the right moment to practice fellatio. Hell, it makes sense that some of the humor is immature. The film is called Eighth Grade, which is, like, the height of immaturity and crass talk. What surprised me about Burnham's writing is how he forsook, or at least heavily downplayed, satire, in place for warmth. It would've been so easy to make Kayla some petty, basic, catty little twat that was supposed to represent the worst tendencies of teenagers, offering some unfair, highfalutin nihilism. It would've been easy to make the father into some clueless clot, representing the worst tendencies of parents raising teenagers.
What Burnham does here is actually depict an actual, genuine, relatable character, not one to be decried or mocked, but to sympathize with. She's awkward and insecure in real life and uses her YouTube platform to feign a more down-to-earth, captivating version of herself. The videos she makes are all pseudo-profound, superficial, and utilize a lot of "um"s, "like"s, and "whatever"s, but they sincerely mean something to her because it's what she's feeling. She doesn't have the finesse or growth to properly and eloquently communicate what she's feeling, but she has the emotional experience.
Additionally, the dad in this film is not the type of dad that is completely disconnected via the dreaded generational gap and is trying to hip, but rather he is merely trying to connect with his daughter. That mere motive has some deep, underlying pathos to it, but yet the extremity of their weird relationship creates some incredulous laughs. However, it comes all to a head during a fireplace scene between him and Kayla, which is the most heartwarming moment of the film, daring to tug at the heartstrings and demolishes both of these characters' personal barriers. The fact that Burnham could generate such emotional investment and relatability without any sort of obvious, self-impressed cynicism is quite remarkable.
It also helps that Burnham has brought in two fine actors to assist us in appreciating our time with these characters. Elsie Fisher, who you may recognize as Agnes from the first two Despicable Me films, doesn't try to deliver some spunky, rowdy performance to forcibly distance herself from her childish roles. Instead, she opts to play a teenager by, *gasp*, being a teenager. It's as elementary yet lovable a performance you could hope for, with that nervous half-smile being the closest thing to a gimmick. Acting veteran Josh Hamilton is warm, approachable, and flexible as Elsie's father, desperately trying to find the sweet spot of investing himself in his daughter's life, whilst also giving her her space. Also, Jake Ryan as Gabe, a friend of Kayla's, is a riot. I will say no more of the matter.
You know, it's funny. When I attended the screening of this film, there actually were some pre-teen girls in the audience. I almost questioned why a film like this would honestly peak their interest, as opposed to questioning why they were at a R-rated film, because, let's face it, we all know the answers. I mean, sure it's called Eighth Grade, but this seems like a film that would appeal more to those looking back on the angst of it all, rather than the current victims of that same angst. Given how much the film showcases the mental escapes of teenagers, I figured they were glued into theirs and this did a flyby over them.
But nope, I was wrong. And I'm glad, because all the pre-teens/teenagers who gave this film a legitimate chance would've been paired with the perfect icon for teenage humility and confusion: Kayla. What's refreshing is that the film doesn't particularly offer a resolution, but moreso a step in the right direction. Why? Because, in the end, that's what growing up is: making steps in the right direction. She'll face much harsher vicissitudes, but she'll have experiences to fall back on that will guide her on how to handle them, at least sometimes. I've read reviews that are clamoring to see more of Kayla's life after eighth grade.
One of those reviews will be mine. As Buzz Lightyear would say, "To ninth grade and beyond!"
RATING: An enthusiastic three stars
However, the way the straightforward presentation of opening credits is utilized in Eighth Grade is actually one of the most potent, subterraneously ballsy, and narratively fitting usages of this unadorned method for an opening that I've ever seen. Those cold, white credits with the bland, lifeless font perfectly mirrors the ruthlessly on-the-nose nature of this epoch of adolescence. Their simple fade-ins and fade-outs seem to resemble the feelings of helplessness and uselessness that some teenagers of this age do tend to feel, particularly our protagonist, Kayla. And when that title card drops with that customary "thud," it definitely captures the existential horror that seems to envelop during this period of one's youth.
This. Is. Eight Grade!
The film revolves around the aforementioned Kayla, an eight-grader who is getting ready to graduate. She's a shy, quiet type, adorned with acne, enraptured by her phone and ostensibly is aspiring to be a YouTube star, constantly posting videos of advice. However, her quiet, self-effacing temperament is a mild bone of contention with her, as it leads her to earn the superlative of "Most Quiet." Ignited by this, she sets off to build her confidence and find herself, along with maybe earning her crush, Adrien, who had been voted "Best Eyes."
I've always been an acolyte of Bo Burnham and his weird, satirical, skewering brand of comedy, going back to his Rehab Center for Fictional Characters bit. I knew he was skilled as a musician, but I never knew he was such a musical technician. He actually doesn't play a note of the score, rather instead leaving that to British electro-composer, Anna Meredith, but this film showed me that his knack for music goes beyond knowing how to play an instrument. It extends mentally and emotionally, having a sixth sense for the placement of music.
In this film, the score treats each scene as a new experience for its lead character and assists in the narrative progression. When Kayla is at a pool party, the score couples the initial rush/external enjoyment with the internal horror brought upon by Kayla's self-image. A specific ingenious move on the part of both Meredith as a composer and Burnham as a director comes during the dinner table scene, which is the first time in the film that we see the interaction between Kayla and her father. Initially, Kayla is locked into her phone, blaring music, which we hear with all the volume, intensity, and vigor that Kayla certainly must feel, too. During the conversation, Kayla has to alternate between being alone at her phone and having to begrudgingly converse with her father.
After her final plea with her father to be on her phone, her father relents, but at that point on, we don't get to hear the music anymore, thus Burnham gets to convey the feeling of having such a vibrant, up-to-the-minute, whizzing buzz of a safe space her phone provides, yet opposing that with the actual reality of what Kayla is doing: shutting herself off and submitting to a fantasy. As well, for the initial spurt of music we are allowed to hear, Meredith shows us how much ass she kicks as a musician, not just in this scene, but in every other scene. Hell, she is the composer and she definitely shows us how she got the job.
Burnham really shines as a writer/director. He is a comedian and he utilizes some vulgar, immature, and low-brow sensibilities, but it leads to some big laughs, including Kayla trying to find the right moment to practice fellatio. Hell, it makes sense that some of the humor is immature. The film is called Eighth Grade, which is, like, the height of immaturity and crass talk. What surprised me about Burnham's writing is how he forsook, or at least heavily downplayed, satire, in place for warmth. It would've been so easy to make Kayla some petty, basic, catty little twat that was supposed to represent the worst tendencies of teenagers, offering some unfair, highfalutin nihilism. It would've been easy to make the father into some clueless clot, representing the worst tendencies of parents raising teenagers.
What Burnham does here is actually depict an actual, genuine, relatable character, not one to be decried or mocked, but to sympathize with. She's awkward and insecure in real life and uses her YouTube platform to feign a more down-to-earth, captivating version of herself. The videos she makes are all pseudo-profound, superficial, and utilize a lot of "um"s, "like"s, and "whatever"s, but they sincerely mean something to her because it's what she's feeling. She doesn't have the finesse or growth to properly and eloquently communicate what she's feeling, but she has the emotional experience.
Additionally, the dad in this film is not the type of dad that is completely disconnected via the dreaded generational gap and is trying to hip, but rather he is merely trying to connect with his daughter. That mere motive has some deep, underlying pathos to it, but yet the extremity of their weird relationship creates some incredulous laughs. However, it comes all to a head during a fireplace scene between him and Kayla, which is the most heartwarming moment of the film, daring to tug at the heartstrings and demolishes both of these characters' personal barriers. The fact that Burnham could generate such emotional investment and relatability without any sort of obvious, self-impressed cynicism is quite remarkable.
It also helps that Burnham has brought in two fine actors to assist us in appreciating our time with these characters. Elsie Fisher, who you may recognize as Agnes from the first two Despicable Me films, doesn't try to deliver some spunky, rowdy performance to forcibly distance herself from her childish roles. Instead, she opts to play a teenager by, *gasp*, being a teenager. It's as elementary yet lovable a performance you could hope for, with that nervous half-smile being the closest thing to a gimmick. Acting veteran Josh Hamilton is warm, approachable, and flexible as Elsie's father, desperately trying to find the sweet spot of investing himself in his daughter's life, whilst also giving her her space. Also, Jake Ryan as Gabe, a friend of Kayla's, is a riot. I will say no more of the matter.
You know, it's funny. When I attended the screening of this film, there actually were some pre-teen girls in the audience. I almost questioned why a film like this would honestly peak their interest, as opposed to questioning why they were at a R-rated film, because, let's face it, we all know the answers. I mean, sure it's called Eighth Grade, but this seems like a film that would appeal more to those looking back on the angst of it all, rather than the current victims of that same angst. Given how much the film showcases the mental escapes of teenagers, I figured they were glued into theirs and this did a flyby over them.
But nope, I was wrong. And I'm glad, because all the pre-teens/teenagers who gave this film a legitimate chance would've been paired with the perfect icon for teenage humility and confusion: Kayla. What's refreshing is that the film doesn't particularly offer a resolution, but moreso a step in the right direction. Why? Because, in the end, that's what growing up is: making steps in the right direction. She'll face much harsher vicissitudes, but she'll have experiences to fall back on that will guide her on how to handle them, at least sometimes. I've read reviews that are clamoring to see more of Kayla's life after eighth grade.
One of those reviews will be mine. As Buzz Lightyear would say, "To ninth grade and beyond!"
RATING: An enthusiastic three stars
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