The Fallout (2022)

Score: 4 / 5

HBO always pushes the limits when it comes to content -- just look at Euphoria, or don't -- and it seems that adolescent trauma is the name of the game when it comes to one of their latest original dramas. The Fallout drew me in because its star, Jenna Ortega, is suddenly a bona fide movie star doing surprising and prolific work (Scream 5, X, You season two, Jurassic World: Camp Cretaceous). And while Ortega completely nailed this complex and nuanced role, the film itself surprised me in wonderful and challenging ways. Writer and first-time feature director Megan Park centers on her versatile star to tell a difficult story that smacks of authenticity in almost every frame. She's not playing an easy game either, choosing to tell the story not of the climactic events that predicate her film but of young people coming to terms with those events.

I had no idea what this film was about when I clicked on it, but within a few minutes of its beginning -- which sets up an otherwise typical bildungsroman for a high school girl teasing her younger sister about her first period and staring at a local influencer in the bathroom with curiosity or jealousy (or lust?) -- the relative tranquility is shattered as gunshots ring out in the school halls. The two girls jump into the nearest stall together, lock the door, and climb atop the toilet. Vada (Ortega), a short and baggy-clothed malcontent, pulls out her phone but is shaking too much to use it as the rapid fire gets closer; Mia (Maddie Ziegler), a tall blond dancer, drops her bangles on the ground and slips out of her heels, which end up in the bowl. We're locked in the stall with them, and the sound mixing forces us to breathe frantically with them as the bathroom door opens and footsteps approach. It's Quinton (Niles Fitch), who hides in the next stall before announcing himself. The girls invite him to crawl into theirs; he does, leaving streaks of blood on the white tiles. He checks himself for bullet wounds before breaking into panicked tears and mourning his brother, who presumably died in front of him. The three wait in horrified sorrow until the police arrive.

It's a hard introduction to the film, but Park's sensitivity lies in its focus on these students and their experience. The rest of the film deals with their ability -- or inability -- to cope with the tragedy and continue to live despite the trauma. The honesty with which she portrays each subsequent scene is profound: while Vada's family sits in stony, shocked silence at the dinner table, the camera lingers on Vada's catatonic face. When the news reports updates on the incident, which we hear mostly off-camera in bits and pieces, we center on Vada's face as she texts Mia and Quinton, students who were probably not her friends before their shared survival story. The "outside world" is a nebulous force, one that only occasionally reminds us (or Vada, or Mia) that it's there. Our experience is bounded by a fuzzy screen, one that limits the sound and sight of much beyond awkward, mostly silent interactions. Vada and Mia start spending time together, acting like best friends always on the verge of courting each other; they drink wine and talk, smoke a joint and float in the pool, and sneak out of their houses to connect when they start to feel panicked.

Even the experiences of other students begin to feel "other" to her, such as her gay friend Nick (Will Ropp) who becomes the media face of the incident and speaks at rallies to condemn the NRA and governmental inaction over these tragedies. Park is determined to avoid telling the, sadly, familiar story of traumatized teenagers who become famous activists; she's interested in the silent majority of teenagers who live through the same experiences and don't become famous as a result. Vada has to go to therapy (with Shailene Woodley, in a bizarre casting choice), where she feels nothing; she has to return to school eventually, and when she does she gets high on ecstasy just to make it through the day. 

Park's sensitivity in direction only increases from the inciting incident, and as Vada navigates her own psyche and the halls of her school, we're treated to a smorgasbord of bittersweet scenes that seamlessly combine dark, uncomfortable drama with raw humor. Several scenes aren't arguably "necessary" for the furtherment of any negligible plot, but the general aesthetic of this film seems to toe the line with a "slice of life" approach. It's a fascinating way to handle the traumatic issues raised, and it does so -- I think -- in an extraordinarily dangerous and effective way. The film works to normalize the shooting and its aftereffects even as it criticizes that same phenomenon as it happens in real life. We're normalizing mass shootings, especially in schools, as a culture, and doing so -- Park rightly sermonizes in this film -- only increases and exacerbates the trauma experienced by the (often young) people most immediately affected.