“I’m too young to be seventeen,” confesses Dusty in All This Panic (2016), fine art photographer Jenny Gage’s debut documentary.
The film offers a glimpse into the lives of several teenage girls attending a private high school in Brooklyn. While we are introduced to seven girls over a three year-period as they hurtle towards womanhood, three predominate: Lena, her best friend Ginger, and the latter’s younger sister Dusty. Gage presents a collage of moments from their lives as they negotiate cliques, sexuality, higher education, career choices and family dynamics. There’s even a scene where two kids share a tender kiss at a metal concert, and its tonal heterogeneity (the scene, not the kiss) exemplifies of Gage’s astute handling of life’s often-amorphous emotional palette. Viewers looking for a Hollywoodian imposition of meaning over such diverse footage (“all you need is love!”) may be frustrated.
Lena navigates a tense family situation with her mother and father both losing their jobs, all while her brother is in dire need of mental and physical healthcare. She has an adult-like tendency of talking about such circumstances with clipped laughter and a moderate tone, betraying a gritty stoicism. Awarded a scholarship to Sarah Lawrence College, Lena learns to bring the fortitude that facilitated her academic achievements to her personal life. Over a summer when neither of her parents can house her, she thinks, “I’ve worked every summer….I’ve never seen the country.” Lena’s decision to travel is colored predominantly by her initiative to turn things around, and is fortunately devoid of the childish euphoria of “travel-the-world” clickbait journalism. That she is also a bubbly and talkative teenager sheds light on a multi-faceted persona we rarely see depicted in fictional accounts of teens on screen.
Ginger aspires to be an actress, but lacks hustle at first. She becomes bogged down and resentful over her family’s repeated criticisms of her professional floundering. Much of the film depicts Ginger lashing out at well-meaning family members, more alienated than galvanized by criticism. She is the only one of of her friends who didn’t go to college, which exacerbates her sense of isolation. As the film progresses, the pugnacious Ginger, initially somewhat unsympathetic, gradually reveals a vulnerability and self-awareness that suggests a more complex portrait of who she might be.
Sage, one of the few people of color in the school, contemplates her admission to the all-black Howard University. She anticipates entering a predominantly African-American institution will be akin to “letting out a deep breath you didn’t know you were holding.” Her interviews are striking in their self-reflection. Armed with charming emotional intelligence and a knack for analysis, Sage explores her relationship with her mother since her father’s recent death, her struggle to be taken seriously as a teenage feminist, and her relative economic privilege. I left the film wishing I got to hear a lot more from her, as I did with numerous other teenage interviewees, who consider their struggles with homosexuality, live-in relationships, virginity, and financial independence with more nuance than a Three Act Structure-bred Hollywood screenwriter could ever hope for.
Cinematographer Tom Betterton (Gage’s husband and artistic partner) uses long lenses to imbibe the images with the aesthetic quality of fiction films. His painterly soft focus presents these kids with affection, while his minimalist use of natural light fosters an organic, bittersweet tone. Gage shapes this footage into an unstoppable flow of fleeting moments. Some pass by in an instant, others slow time down with their singularity. This eddying montage evokes the visceral transience of teenage years with great effect. It also echoes, in a way, the vitality with which these girls bounce from thought to thought.
Poetic without ever feeling manipulative, All This Panic crafts touching portraits of teenage years from the inside out. One of Gage’s standout gifts to the audience is her recording of the articulate, self-aware sides of these girls as they dip their toes in adulthood. As Sage observes, these are sides of teenage girls we often (choose to) fail to see.
Opens on March 31st in NYC at IFC Center with National Rollout to follow.
