Miller’s Actually-She’s-Eighteen
The following piece contains spoilers for the film Miller's Girl (2024), as well as some NSFW discussion.
Pithy Letterboxd-style review (read: attempted virality): They finally made a movie adaptation of the YA-obsessed adult’s idea of what adult literature is.
You might get the impression a movie about an inappropriate student-teacher relationship that opens with the line “What is an adult?” and ends with Janis Ian’s “At Seventeen” is some kind of self-aware parody or satire. While Jade Halley Bartlett’s Miller’s Girl (2024) certainly has moments of what might generously be called “clarity” (re. subjects like writing and sexual dynamics)—more tortuously: “quasi-didactic”—it feels more or less like a straightforward, even predictable telling of this kind of story. (Or, in an era of excessive self-awareness—“He’s Right Behind Me, Isn’t He?”—maybe this is the radical approach.) I found the film’s tone fascinating, however. There are fleeting notes of horror in the visuals and soundscape, and then there’s stuff that feels artlessly moving or wistful or romantic. It strikes me as, overall, not at all the “slick” sort of movie where I should be seeing pop-ups highlighting messages from people’s cellphones, but there they are.
Similarly, the dialogue is a mix of the sort of awkward, “unrealistic,” strained, “literary” style that I personally enjoy with an occasional frankness or even crassness that borders on parody again by virtue of its extreme contrast. Here are several examples, all taken from throughout the same scene:
“I’m smokin’ now. No plans for it to define me yet.”
“It becomes a conversation about achieving emancipation from your inherited beliefs about sex and age.”
“We’re like the fuckin’ American wet dream. Young girls with ambivalent sexuality.”
“I don’t wanna drop it for some rando jock-twat whose sexual standards are mandated by the shit porn he downloads. That’s deli meat.”
“No, you’re being… Shut up.”
The highest compliment I can pay Miller’s Girl is that I did pause it early on to Google and find out if it was based on a book. I also think it’s risky to write a movie about writing and then have a bunch of characters’ writing shared in it, as the danger is that the audience won’t agree that the work is actually that great. This is obviously a matter of personal taste. As I mentioned before, I… liked it, but the writing uniformly has a tendency toward being “verbose” more than anything else, coming off like the characters are constantly deep-throating a thesaurus. It’s what a lot of people could (justifiably) call pretentious.
Obviously, there’s the question of the movie’s Content: As someone who has worked in education, I always respond negatively to bad teachers in art more or less as a matter of reflex. I recently finished re-watching season one of the 2015 comedy-horror series Scream Queens, for example, and one of the characters has a father who teaches a truly abysmal film class in certain episodes, which seems to consist of him just showing the students movies and then lecturing for a few minutes afterward. In Miller’s Girl, the issue is less how Martin Freeman’s titular Miller teaches and more about the mistakes he makes in handling Jenna Ortega’s precocious Cairo Sweet. It’s a necessary conceit of such stories that the teacher behaves in a way that lets those boundaries ultimately get crossed, but it’s hard not to watch those “slips” happen and not feel like this guy is just terrible at his job, with no sense of propriety whatsoever. Although, obviously this does happen for real. I went to school with someone who ended up crossing that line as a teacher, in fact.
The resonance I feel with stories like this one and also with the way weirdos on the internet talk about girls/women, the age of consent, fertility, birth rates, and so on is just how young people this age actually look. In contrast to the famously skeevy line from Dazed and Confused (1993), teenagers don’t “stay the same age”—I keep getting older, and they keep getting younger. I didn’t know how young I actually was at eighteen when I was eighteen. This here is meant to be a Heightened reality, where predatory teenagers who rattle around alone in their Southern Gothic houses emerge from the mist of the spooky woods to seduce you, but it’s hard for me not to see this Cairo as a flimsy phantasm, this schemer who seduces and then ruins her teacher so that she can write a really bangin’ application essay for Yale about the experience. She’s a sort of mythological figure in a Culture War, MGTOW, incel-ian mode—handled here with a certain ambivalence and enthralling grace even as the film technically panders to boring, old cishet male fears of entrapment and exploitation and degradation at the hands of wily Females.
It's another area where the film threatens to fall into parody—that and how it’s not just Cairo, but also her friend Winnie (Gideon Adlon) doing this. They’re both seducing teachers, but Winnie maybe genuinely likes hers and ends up falling out with Cairo in the end over it. The whiplash of Winnie’s transformation from short-skirted bisexual seductress to frumpy, teary-eyed defeat is also pretty comedic. Meanwhile, the mirrored pairing of Mr. Miller and his friend Boris (Bashir Salahuddin), Winnie’s target, further feeds into that sense of ridiculous excess. Boris’ ultimate rationalization of his own behavior is perhaps frustratingly brief, though intriguing for its moral ambiguity. Again, though, the fact that this is happening twice in the same school, simultaneously, with people this closely connected to one another, feels almost like unintentional comedy.
I’m sure Seth Rogen is a consummate professional, but knowing that he was a producer on this movie made me really want a commentary track from him, or to be a fly on the wall when he read the script. Like, I can just imagine his reaction to the scene where Mr. Miller is whackin’ it to Cairo’s midterm short story in what amounts to a shed. I thought it was pretty funny! I partly blame the “Peterotica” episode of Family Guy for me having this impression, however: You could just not take your shirt off while driving! You could simply not jork it to your student’s writing! That these reactions seem so… involuntary is part of what makes me laugh. Miller dramatically cranking hog does strike an ok balance between eroticism and thrills, I feel, and I don’t want to only disparage it. This is probably the stylistic—erotic and thrilling—high point of the movie. One criticism that could be levied against Miller’s Girl is that there isn’t actually enough of this sort of thing. It’s a real “Yes, and what else?” sort of deal.
Miller’s more successful writer wife, Beatrice (Dagmara Domińczyk), is a frustrating element of the story because of just how off-putting she is. She’s often demeaning toward her husband and only seems more drunk and belligerent as the story goes on. She’s meant to contrast with Cairo, obviously: The younger girl is sweet, whereas Beatrice is not. She lounges around the house in sexy sleepwear, and she’s not not into the story Cairo wrote when Miller shares it with her, which is… problematic. While Cairo is clearly antagonistic after a point and isn’t meant to represent a real option for several reasons (her age, her sort-of madness), the film doesn’t make staying with Beatrice feel like much of a viable choice either. It reminded me of a similar issue that I had with Woody Allen’s Midnight in Paris (2011). The fiancée in that film is so obviously a bad match (and person) that there’s not much tension where the question of staying with her is concerned. I think if Beatrice was just a skosh less aggressively dismissive of Miller, then it would make this situation more thrilling.
The film is perhaps surprisingly slight: Not much really happens, and I think it could have afforded to go a bit bigger and darker (embrace more of the grotesque potential of the tentative gothic flourishes), though the slightness of it all might add a smidgeon of verisimilitude or else at least make it feel that bit more Literary. In that sense, Bartlett may understand something about writing that Cairo did not—the value of doing less, in more than one sense.
