Krystal Sutherland’s 2016 best seller, the high school romance “Our Chemical Hearts,” has been retold a million times in the past few years, including references in Julia Watson and Jennifer Niven novels. So what else could be done with the material to make it fresh and engaging?
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Known for his Barack and Michelle Obama date movie “Southside With You,” Richard Tanne is the unlikely yet perfect director to put a fresh spin on Sutherland’s novel. He sets out to do something new with “Chemical Hearts,” which is update it to 2020. Tanne draws out the painful and traumatic elements of the novel, then instills them with themes, moments and emotions specific to today’s youth — no one here listens to Billie Eilish or Juice Wrld, but you can imagine the characters playing those artists in-between takes.
That especially goes for Henry Page (Austin Abrams), a writer who hasn’t had anything happen to him, and therefore has nothing to write about. Enter Grace Town (Lili Reinhart), a transfer student with too much going on in her life (more on that shortly). The pair meet when they are made co-editors of the school newspaper, but Grace, an introvert, recoils from his efforts to connect. For a brief yet alluring spell, Henry secretly follows her home. Grace walks with a cane, and her injury is like a weight around her neck, keeping her from moving forward, keeping her from standing up straight.
The nuanced performance required of Reinhart is tricky, playing a girl constantly broken, yes, but also a girl trying to put the pieces back together. Henry wants to help, and Tanne makes his desire visual in Henry’s hobby of kintsugi, the Japanese art of mending broken pottery with pieces of gold. (Later in the film, Grace shouts at Henry, “I’m not one of your vases!” Just in case you didn’t get it.)
It’s a given that “Chemical Hearts” leans into obvious metaphor, which is fine. Part of the movie’s appeal is how it lays out adolescent messiness in a coherent way, from the drifty tone to the note-perfect indie soundtrack, from the dialogue to Grace’s idea for the school paper, a modern-twist on “Romeo and Juliet,” “The Cather in the Rye,” and “Ordinary People,” all of which end in teenage suicide.
While modern romances tend to hide the tragic aspects of young love, Tanne embraces them. Henry is far from smooth — he fumbles sentences, he fumbles in bed; give him a football, and he’ll fumble that too. Yet he’s someone Grace can lean on. Tanne details the roller coaster of their relationship, following the highs, lows, healings and heartbreaks, in addition to the outside forces swaying their decisions. He has an obvious fondness for Gen Z, especially their maturity, and the way they mature through YA novels, social media, emo music, and other outlets that put their feelings into words. He does the same thing here, surrounding Henry and Grace with a roll-call of supporting characters, all of whom chime in on emotional issues such as love, death, and trauma.
The story is familiar but what makes the film work is how Tanne uses performance, music and tone to create a realistic high school environment. For every teenager who has ever felt alone, who has ever felt that an A- is like winning the Pulitzer and sex is like winning lottery, it feels in many ways like a documentary. It isn’t pretty — it’s by turns confusing, exhilarating, depressing and deflating. But then again, so is high school. [B]