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We Are the Best! review: 'A spirited ode to anarchy and home haircuts' We Are the Best! review: 'A spirited ode to anarchy and home haircuts'
(3 months later)
Add Add one more thing to the list of the world’s cutest epiphenomena, alongside panda cubs, kissing otters and Ronan Farrow: 13-year-old all-girl Swedish punk bands. Based on a graphic novel written by his wife Coco, which itself was based on her own experiences of growing up as a teenage punkette in Stockholm in the 1980s, Lukas Moodysson’s We Are the Best! is warm, exuberant and almost absurdly catchy. It's the movie equivalent of one of those summer pop songs that drifts out of shop fronts and car windows – you can’t help humming along to it and it leaves you grinning like a fool.
one more thing to the list of the world’s cutest epiphenomena, It’s 1982, and the Human League is playing in the suburbs of Stockholm. Two school friends, Bobo (Mira Barkhammer), and Klara (Mira Grosin), decide to form a punk band when the school’s resident heavy metal group fail to put their names down on the rehearsal room roster. Admittedly, Bobo and Klara only seem to have one song, about hating PE class, called Hate the Sport (“The world is a morgue and you're watching Björn Borg”).
alongside panda cubs, kissing otters and Ronan Farrow: Also, they don’t know to how play any instruments. “Do drums have chords?” asks Bobo, bespectacled and boyish in a chunky square-patterned sweater. Klara is a little more promising, a blithe provocateur with a pixieish mohican, even if it is kept up with her brother’s help. “Is that egg?” asks one of the school’s resident blondes, one of a pair with matching perms and lip gloss, who chew their gum in tandem.
13-year-old all-girl Swedish punk bands. Based Undeterred, Bobo and Klara seek out a third member for their group and sign up Christian, friendless Hedvig, after seeing her play classical guitar at a school talent show. “We’ll influence her away from God,” plots Klara, but in fact something like the opposite happens. Hedvig is soon introducing them to the alien concept of chords and harmony (“What the hell is that?”) while her lilting rendition of a punk anthem has them squealing in delight.
on a graphic novel written by his wife Coco, The film repeatedly pulls off the same trick: channelling punk’s sneer in the direction of more charitable embrace, Moodysson has fashioned a sweet, spirited misfit anthem, a spirited ode to anarchy, teen spirit and home-made haircuts. He may be the only film director in whom the legacies of Ingmar Bergman and ABBA might be said to be, if not reconciled, then put on the same page: hawk-eyed observation of his fellow humans duking it out with the equally acute desire to join them when they bum-rush the dancefloor.
which Just recently, it looked like Bergman had the upper hand, with Moodysson going on a prolonged dark tear, making films on sex trafficking (Lilja 4-Ever), pornography (A Hole in My Heart) and globalisation (Mammoth). We Are the Best! sees him returning to the warm-hearted vitality, and suburban mileu, of his 2000 film, Together, about life on a hippie commune in the 1970s as viewed through the eyes of its latchkey kids. You’d call it a coming-of-age film, except the ages were reversed: the adults squabbling like kids, the kids sombre and purposeful, like miniature adults.
itself was based on her own experiences of growing up as a teenage That reversal is present in softer, refracted form, too, in We Are the Best!, which boasts its share of un-sorted out parents, negotiating their 40s by arguing about politics, getting drunk and playing spin-the-bottle. Bobo’s mother, in particular, seems to be emerging from her divorce as a newly-born 13-year-old, sobbing on the bed when her latest boyfriend breaks up with her. Bobo administers a hug, then makes dinner for herself by popping fish sticks in the toaster.
punkette in Stockholm in the 1980s, Bobo has grown in the opposite direction, you realise: she stares at her squashed-potato face in the mirror in a manner both deeply unimpressed and mutely accepting of what she sees – the look seems to say, “What are you going to do?” The film – shot with a handheld camera, and ragged editing rhythms to match – feels uncannily true to the episodic, pell-mell rhythms of adolescence.
Lukas Moodysson’s We Are the Best! There are no worked-up epiphanies, or exaggerated conflicts demanding resolution. Moodysson instead has a fondness for episodic scenes that descend into the sprightlier type of anarchy, a goal in which he is added and abetted by his young actors, particularly Grosin, a cheeky terror whose line in BS is matched only by grin with which she delivers it, as if she has long ago given up on the hope of being believed. Her eyes stretch wide with her own outrageous lies.
is warm, exuberant and almost absurdly “My mom is dead and my dad is drunk and I haven’t been fed in weeks,” Klara tells a shopper in the local mall where they go panhandling for money to buy an electric guitar. They get some money but blow it on sweets, which only makes you wonder how things might have turned out if Sid Vicious has spent his money on licorice. Was punk ever this fun? The Sex Pistols had the decline of empire to sharpen their disaffection, plus the Queen, and, well, the complete lack of imagination shown by the British public towards safety pins. Klara and Bobo have between them, a divorce, a clueless boy, and an embarrassing dad or two, but a lyric advising everyone to “abort all the parents!” aside, their disaffection comes pocket-sized and Moodysson scales his movie to match.
catchy. It's the movie equivalent of one of those summer pop songs that It’s his lightest film, no question, but the lightness feels right –it flies along like an old 45, a spider-whorl of pink graffiti, a sugar rush. If Charles Schulz – another Scandinavian, albeit by way of Minnesota – had ever penned a Peanuts strip about punk rock, it might have looked and felt a little like this. Exclamation points seem entirely apropos: it’s the best!
drifts out of shop fronts and car windows – you can’t help
humming along to it and it leaves you grinning like a fool.
It’s
1982, and the Human League is playing in the suburbs of Stockholm.
Two school friends, Bobo
(Mira Barkhammer), and
Klara (Mira
Grosin), decide to form a punk band when the school’s resident
heavy metal group fail to put their names down on the rehearsal room roster. Admittedly, Bobo and Klara only seem to have one song, about hating PE class,
called Hate the Sport (“The world is a morgue and you're watching
Björn
Borg”).
Also, they don’t know to how play any instruments. “Do
drums have chords?” asks Bobo, bespectacled and boyish in a chunky
square-patterned sweater. Klara is a little more promising, a blithe
provocateur with a pixieish mohican, even if it is kept up with her
brother’s help. “Is that egg?” asks one of the school’s
resident blondes, one of a pair with matching perms and lip gloss, who
chew their gum in tandem.
Undeterred,
Bobo and Klara seek out a third member for their group and sign up Christian, friendless Hedvig, after seeing
her play classical guitar at a school talent show.
“We’ll influence her away from God,” plots Klara, but in fact
something like the opposite happens. Hedvig is soon introducing them
to the alien concept of chords and harmony (“What the hell is
that?”) while her lilting rendition of a punk anthem has them
squealing in delight.
The film repeatedly pulls off the
same trick: channelling punk’s sneer in the direction of more
charitable embrace, Moodysson has fashioned a sweet, spirited misfit
anthem, a spirited ode to anarchy, teen spirit and home-made
haircuts. He may be the only film director in whom the legacies of
Ingmar Bergman and ABBA might be said to be, if not reconciled, then
put on the same page: hawk-eyed observation of his fellow humans
duking it out with the equally acute desire to join them when they
bum-rush the dancefloor.
Just
recently, it looked like Bergman had the upper hand, with
Moodysson going on a prolonged dark tear, making
films on sex trafficking (Lilja
4-Ever),
pornography (A
Hole in My Heart)
and
globalisation (Mammoth).
We Are the Best!
sees him returning to the warm-hearted vitality, and suburban mileu,
of his 2000 film, Together,
about life on a hippie commune in the 1970s as viewed through the
eyes of its latchkey kids. You’d call it a coming-of-age film, except the ages were reversed: the adults squabbling like kids, the
kids sombre and purposeful, like miniature adults.
That reversal is
present in softer, refracted form, too, in We Are the Best!, which
boasts its share of un-sorted out parents, negotiating their 40s
by arguing about politics, getting drunk and playing spin-the-bottle.
Bobo’s mother, in particular, seems to be emerging from her
divorce as a newly-born 13-year-old, sobbing on the bed when her latest
boyfriend breaks up with her. Bobo administers a hug, then makes
dinner for herself by popping fish sticks in the toaster.
Bobo has
grown in the opposite direction, you realise: she stares at her squashed-potato face in the
mirror in a manner both deeply unimpressed and mutely accepting of
what she sees – the look seems to say, “What are
you going to do?” The film – shot with a handheld camera,
and ragged editing rhythms to match – feels uncannily true to
the episodic, pell-mell rhythms of adolescence.
There
are no worked-up epiphanies, or exaggerated conflicts demanding
resolution. Moodysson
instead has a fondness for episodic scenes that descend into the
sprightlier type of anarchy, a goal in which he is added and abetted
by his young actors, particularly Grosin,
a cheeky terror whose line in BS is matched only by grin with which
she delivers it, as if she has long ago given up on the hope of being
believed. Her eyes stretch wide with her own outrageous lies.
“My
mom is dead and my dad is drunk and I haven’t been fed in weeks,”
Klara tells a shopper in the local mall where they go panhandling for
money to buy an electric guitar. They get some money but blow it on
sweets, which only makes you wonder how things might have turned out
if Sid Vicious has spent his money on licorice. Was punk ever this
fun? The Sex Pistols had the decline of empire to sharpen their
disaffection, plus the Queen, and, well, the complete lack of
imagination shown by the British public towards safety pins. Klara
and Bobo have between them, a divorce, a clueless boy, and
an embarrassing dad or two, but a lyric advising everyone to “abort
all the parents!” aside, their disaffection comes pocket-sized and
Moodysson scales his movie to match.
It’s
his lightest film, no question, but the lightness feels right –it
flies along like an old 45, a spider-whorl of pink graffiti, a
sugar rush. If Charles Schulz – another Scandinavian, albeit
by way of Minnesota – had ever penned a Peanuts
strip about punk rock, it might have looked and felt a little like
this. Exclamation points seem entirely apropos: it’s
the best!
• We Are the Best is released in the US on 30 May.• We Are the Best is released in the US on 30 May.