“Eighth Grade” was a gorgeous spectacle of emotion. I got flashbacks to who I was then and revelations about who I am now. Most of them were about how little has changed. We got an intense look at Kayla, being so close to her earnest skin and dreaming eyes, shaking as she pours everything she needs to hear into a camera.
The score wrapped her in anxious moods amplified by the voluminous, Kubrick-ian keyboards. We were transported to a familiar vessel, orbiting miles above reality, where nervous folks spend countless hours wondering if they’ll ever get back down. This inertia-prone satellite is Anxiety. Kayla walks a timeless hero’s journey of overcoming one of the most prolific fears we all face. The unknown keeps us from being happy, from being social, from grasping our dreams and wrestling them down from the cosmos.
The “consent” scene is so important for young people to watch. Girls need to understand that it’s okay to say no and boys who make them feel bad about it are dicks. The MPAA is trying to limit the amount of the younger audience over a few too many “fucks” and that’s a shame, but since when has an R rating stopped kids from watching anything?
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