The opening montage follows teenage Martha, Michele Manenti as Martha at 16, who flirts with boys in a car and moves with a loose group of friends through a tense, casual social world. The scene shifts quickly from daylight flirtations to a more intimate, shared space as she heads back to an apartment with the boys. Throughout this sequence, the film quietly sets up a tension between surface-level teenage bravado and a deeper, unsettling undercurrent of power dynamics that will come into sharper focus as the narrative unfolds.
Director Coolidge, Martha Coolidge, repeatedly steps into frame to break the fourth wall, inviting the audience to question the actors’ approaches and the choices being made on set. These moments aren’t mere gimmicks; they frame the film as a meditation on how scenes are staged and how real experiences shape the performances we watch. Coolidge also sits down with people who were close to her at the time, gathering recollections that illuminate how she acted and how she perceived herself in those years, offering a layered perspective on memory, consent, and representation.
The mood intensifies when teenage Martha and her date, Curly, enter a room whose floor is strewn with mattresses. Two friends drift off to kiss in another space, while another figure staggers under the weight of inebriation. Curly, James Carrington as Curly, guides Martha through a hole in the wall to a darker area where the assault unfolds. The camera lingers on the act but also leverages meta-cinematic cues: Coolidge the director is shown filming, and the scene is punctuated by the actors’ discussions about their staging and their acting choices, turning a traumatic moment into a moment of examination.
As the sequence continues, the actors transport the moment into a dialogue about accountability and complicity. The actor playing teen Martha and the director engage in exchanges that reveal personal histories and beliefs about rape, power, and gendered violence, inviting viewers to reflect on how such moments are shaped by culture and memory. The performer portraying Curly confronts his own complicity in a culture that objectifies women, recounting past visits to a local college where he pursued promiscuous behavior and labeled women in demeaning terms, a confession that adds a chilling layer to the scene and to the broader discussion about consent and responsibility.
In the aftermath, Martha’s tremor of trauma begins to gently give way to connection as she reaches out to her roommate, Anne. Anne Mundstuk, who appears as herself and was Coolidge’s real-life former roommate, steps into the frame to offer a sanctuary and a listening ear. Anne’s presence provides a quiet, human counterpoint to the earlier turmoil, underscoring the film’s emphasis on support, safety, and the healing that can follow a devastating experience.
Overall, the piece weaves together documentary-like reflexivity with a candid portrayal of a girl’s encounter with boundary violations, the social forces that sustain them, and the enduring need for empathy, accountability, and recovery. It treats its subjects with restraint and care, balancing memory with immediacy, and invites viewers to inhabit both the lived reality of the characters and the reflective lens of the filmmaker.
