There’s a symphony of uptalk and a chorus of vocal fry in this documentary about a group of teenage girls growing up in New York City, and also a small but distinct drawl of entitlement. It’s a film with a shrewd, ambient sense of atmosphere, tonally controlled and well shaped in the edit. It may not tell you that much – or perhaps anything – new. But the girls’ personalities come across with great clarity. Each is introduced with a first name flashed up in big sans serif lettering, the film’s one obvious stylistic indulgence, and maybe even a nod to Wes Anderson: one participant rather knowingly references Margot Tenenbaum, Gwyneth Paltrow’s character from The Royal Tenenbaums. They hang out with each other, obsess about boys and their own sexuality; they get mad at their parents, whose own glancingly acknowledged marital discord has coloured their upbringing in various painful ways. Inevitably, the tension with the parents comes to a crunch when these older people pay, or fail to pay, for their daughters’ various college or life choices. The film puts you in the room with these people. It’s a bit claustrophobic, occasionally.
