How to Build a Girl (2019)

Coky Giedroyc’s adaptation of Caitlin Moran’s novel closes this year’s Glasgow Film Festival: a bit of a shame. Glasgow’s programming is varied, drawing films from different countries, composed of different styles and genres, so there was bound to be at least one inept and largely unfunny British comedy among the slate this year.

Johanna Morrigan (Beanie Feldstein) is a bookish teenager, mocked by kids her age and not all that well regarded by her teachers either (her English teacher, played by Joanna Scanlon, has a stern brow any time she comes into contact with young Johanna, likely because the pupil has just handed in a fifteen page essay when two and a half sides of A4 would have sufficed). Her only trusty pal is her brother, Krissie (Laurie Kynaston). Things are tough at home, too: her mother (Sarah Solemani) seems to be suffering from post-natal depression, and her father (Paddy Considine) is illegally breeding dogs, hoping to rekindle a long defunct music career.

Johanna’s a spirited but undisciplined writer, enthusiastic to the point of parody, so much so that her most trusted (and talkative) companions are the pictures of writers, musicians, and artists of all descriptions adorning her bedroom wall (they’re all played by a host of British comedy talent, and perhaps accordingly, not one of them is funny). Her brother places an advert from DME magazine (yep) in front of her: it’s taking submissions from new, young music critics.

Johanna writes about the musical Annie, and submits it to the self-appointed gatekeepers of the rock scene at the magazine. In an unlikely turn, she gets a commission for a concert review, Johanna begins a transformation from her excitable self into an embittered, sniping, and invective critic, working under the name Dolly Wilde.

There’s a certain sort of British comedy film that gives me the shivers: the sort allergic to rhythm, basically devoid of detailed comedic performances, and formally inert. How to Build a Girl belongs in their number. The cliches run like clock-work, the emotional beats are staid, and, tough for a film about the music criticism business, the song cues are a nightmare.

Feldstein, whose Midlands accent is fine while speaking but does take the motorway to Wales when her voice is raised, is a likeable performer who’s not at all suited to the hard-nosed routine she’s set up for in the film. What does work in her character is the confusion of understanding the self at an impressionable age: the way someone as purportedly intelligent as Johanna has no sense of proportion or nuance makes her susceptible to external influence, and gives her something to overcome. But so often, and so frustratingly, the film forgets this.