Written and directed by Lara Gallagher
Starring Sydney Sweeney, Otmara Marrero and Ramsey
Running time: 1 hour and 30 minutes

by Matthew Crump

Where some films blindly romanticise queer age gap relationships, Clementine dares you to understand the social pressures and dangerous behaviors that lead to them. While it is true that queer people do harm each other, it’s important to acknowlege that this kind of inter-community destruction is learned from heteropatriarchal ideals. Lara Jean Gallagher’s debut feature film is bold and challenging storytelling that, after a bit of squirming, will leave you with a deeper understanding of queer cycles of abuse. 

The story opens with one of the film’s dual protagonists, Karen (Otmara Marrero), driving out to the Pacific Northwest seeking shelter in the form of her ex-girlfriend’s stylish cabin. Despite her apparent wooded seclusion, while gazing at the scenic view from a cabin that she had to break into to afford, Karen looks down among the trees and meets Lana (Sydney Sweeney). From there, the two women begin a well-intentioned, yet wildly imbalanced dynamic that our society has condoned, and even encouraged, for far too long.

The visuals and the narrative of the film enhance this tension with the serenity of the setting operating in direct conflict with the troubling dynamic growing between the two women. While both aspects of the film are effective in tandem to each other, the cinematography (Andres Karu) is what really takes the gold.

Gallagher keeps the viewer grounded as the women’s uncomfortable relationship grows by providing the calming imagery of coastal Oregon and scenes that are easier to look at. Much like the cabin’s abstract art, not only are the shots dynamic, they also often provide a wealth of metaphor about our borderline anti-heroes. The minimalist set design and the unnerving score of the film are other technical aspects that really shine through and help distinguish the tranquil visual aesthetic from the messier narrative.

The reason the narrative aspects of the script still walks away with the silver medal is because the situations and character are interesting and feel real. Unfortunately, the same can’t be said consistently enough about their interactions. Initially, the two main characters are shrouded in so much mystery and melancholy that it is too tempting to write them off entirely. However, if the viewer sticks around, Karen and Lana eventually reveal the kind of character complexities that most films avoid. 

The main character, Karen, couldn’t be further from the entitled, obnoxious white woman association that social media has recently attached to her name. Otmara Marrero plays this misguided and mistreated woman with a pensive and mature charm. Her younger counterpart, Lana, played by Sydney Sweeney, is so starkly immature to her that it’s almost unbearable. Both actresses deliver performances that, along with the stunning visuals, help elevate this indie to a level that makes it almost unrecognizable as an indie. 

Throughout the first hour, the dynamic the characters share teeters dangerously on a romantic and paternal seesaw, building subtle sexual tension with acts as innocent as making smores and braiding hair. The subtextual discomfort they are able to create with each other, miles before Lana’s actual age is finally confessed, is a testament to the script and actresses alike. 

That being said, their dialogue is too consistently nebulous. Where a metaphorical shot might add depth, a metaphorical monologue just bewilders the viewer. Despite there having been one too many moody monologues, it’s from the script’s more dubious lines that the film’s most striking and memorable moments are born. 

In the third act, there is a much needed derailment from the more languid pacing of the first hour, with the reveal of Karen’s past and her bold attempt to protect Lana from being exploited. The problem is that it’s unclear if she’s protecting her out of maternal or romantic love. This tension becomes more and more unstomachable until it eventually culminates in a gritty final phone call between the cabin’s landline and the frilly pink nightstand of a teenager’s bedroom. When approaching Clementine, be prepared to feel uncomfortable. Just don’t mistake it’s attempt to de-romanticise abusive queer relationships as contributing to the problem.

It’s streaming in virtual cinemas this Friday, May 8th. Check Oscilloscope's website for options.