While waiting in line to buy a ticket to see Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen, I realized how bad it looked that I was in line to see Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen. Why was a grown man with a five o’clock shadow and wearing a moldy knit cap going to see this movie? Why is he carrying that notebook?!
The ticket girl, a budding teenage drama queen herself, was too busy chatting up her friend to pay me any mind, but her friend gave me the once-over and giggled. I felt obliged to explain that I was there to review the movie, but that sounded creepy too. I got in line behind annoyed-looking mothers with their teenage daughters in tow and tried real hard not to look at anybody, or fumble with my jacket, or show any emotion whatsoever, especially anything that could be construed as a “leer.”
Taking a seat as far away as possible from any other human being, I nervously tackled the Coca-Cola word scramble and hoped that the incessant girly-chattering going on had nothing to do with the odd sight of a groggy-eyed, yellow-toothed man sitting all by himself in sixth row center.
Confessions, directed by Sara Sugarman (how perfect is that?), is the bubbly, pink-hued tale of one Mary Elizabeth Cep (Lindsay Lohan), or Lola, as she likes to refer to herself (it’s more dramatic). Lola is depressed that her earth-mother mom (Glenn Headly) has decided to move the family to a small town in New Jersey from the New York City apartment she was so in love with. She’s also madly in love with the lead singer from the rock band “Sidarthur,” Stu Wolf (Adam Garcia), and desperately wants to see the band’s farewell performance. Lola’s friend Ella (Alison Pill) plays Ethel to Lola’s Lucy in trying to secure tickets to see Stu and get in to the after-show party. Lola also beats out the school rich-bitch, Carla (the 25-year-old looking Megan Fox), for the lead role in the updated version of Pygmalion, titled “Eliza Rocks!”
Does all of this sound like Marcia Brady’s dizzying infatuation with Davy Jones from “The Brady Bunch” show? Is the character that wears more lip-gloss than the lead actress in teen flicks always the “bad” guy? Do teenage girls really make out with the posters hanging in their bedrooms?
Can a teenage girl really save a rock star from his self-destructive ways without same rock star getting arrested for pedophilia?
You’ll just have to buy a ticket like the rest of us 13-year-old girls to find out.
Dan DeMaggio writes about film for Metro Times. E-mail firstname.lastname@example.org.