Wed. Dec 18th, 2024

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Mimmi and Emma’s passionate romance, with all the sports drama and messy emotions that come with it, makes up the majority of “Girl Picture’s” running time. The rest is dedicated to a subplot where Rönkkö, who may be some flavor of asexual, throws herself into a series of casual sexual encounters in hopes that she might learn to enjoy having sex with other people. As with the party scenes, cultural (or at least cinematic) differences between America and Finland are highlighted in Rönkkö’s adventures; the film never questions whether it’s okay—not to mention safe—for her to be doing all of this, which feels very foreign (in a good way!) coming from an American point of view.

Some of the cultural nuances of “Girl Picture” don’t translate as readily: A revelation late in the film that Rönkkö’s parents have essentially stopped talking to her because they’re ashamed of her mental illness has a Scandinavian chilliness to it that may be hard for outsiders to understand. The film lets this unfold naturally, as it does with everything; the approach is far preferable to characters turning towards the camera and explaining how Finns deal with difficult family dynamics (by ignoring them, apparently), but it is puzzling in a similar way to the recent online dust-up over Swedes not offering their guests refreshments. 

That’s not really “Girl Picture’s” problem, however. The movie is here to help viewers get to know and love these characters, not provide a cultural lesson. This is where Haapasalo’s light touch really pays off: She centers the film’s young actors and their performances throughout the film, occasionally pausing for long, unbroken close-ups that focus on the girls’ faces as they silently ride a rollercoaster of teenage emotions. The pressure faced by young athletes like Emma is rendered especially vividly, as is the shame that leads Mimmi to sabotage every good thing that comes into her life. Rönkkö’s inner world is shallower by comparison, but she gets most of the film’s (gentle, knowing) laughs, so it comes out even in the end. 

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By Dave Jenks

Dave Jenks is an American novelist and Veteran of the United States Marine Corps. Between those careers, he’s worked as a deckhand, commercial fisherman, divemaster, taxi driver, construction manager, and over the road truck driver, among many other things. He now lives on a sea island, in the South Carolina Lowcountry, with his wife and youngest daughter. They also have three grown children, five grand children, three dogs and a whole flock of parakeets. Stinnett grew up in Melbourne, Florida and has also lived in the Florida Keys, the Bahamas, and Cozumel, Mexico. His next dream is to one day visit and dive Cuba.