Juno. As it was ending, I thought, “Well, it’s cute.” On the way out of the theater, Ana called it “cutesy,” which, to me, nails it.
In some ways, the protagonist is like any other movie hero – say Bruce Willis in Die Hard or Sylvester Stallone in Rambo. She’s not bound by the same rules.
But I do wish she’d cried in the first act and not in the last 10 minutes. Even John McClane had more stirring moments of personal weakness. When Juno lapses, she gets mad at her would-be boyfriend. That’s it.
I want to believe kids like Juno exist in the real world. Is there such a thing as minstrelism not based on race but age? (Look Who’s Talking 42?)
For all the verbal fireworks, the sole conflict in the story is whether two 16 year-olds will go steady. Is Sixteen Candles a categorically different film or just much better?