Review: The Miseducation of Cameron Post

The Miseducation of Cameron Post (15)

USA 2018  91 mins  Dir: Desiree Akhavan Cast: Chloë Grace Moretz, Jennifer Ehle, Sasha Lane, John Gallagher Jr., Forest Goodluck

One of those films that craves applause for its very existence, and duly won the Grand Jury Prize at Sundance, this slight and often schematic indie drama hits all the expected comedy and tragedy beats at all the expected moments. Given the fish-in-a-barrel nature of its target – the preposterous ‘gay conversion therapy’ movement in the US (still legal in 41 states of Trump’s America, fact fans) – one might have hoped for it to be either funnier or angrier. Instead, Desiree Akhavan’s adaptation of Emily M. Danforth’s YA novel just kind of sits there in traditional rather lifeless Sundance indie fashion, elevated only by an excellent central performance from Chloë Grace Moretz.

It’s 1993, and orphaned Cameron (Moretz) is caught by her prom night date en flagrante with another woman in the back of a car. His manliness impugned, he snitches on the steamy sapphic twosome. But only Cameron is packed off to the God’s Promise camp, her devout guardian hoping an intensive course of de-gaying will put paid to her ungodly lusts. The place is run by guitar-strumming groovy Christian Reverend Rick (Gallagher Jr), who claims to have triumphed over same sex attraction – although he continues to sport a suspicious cock-duster moustache. But it soon becomes clear that the real power here is wielded by his stern, monstrous therapist sister Dr. Lydia Marsh (Ehle), who’s aptly described as a “Disney villain” by one of the unfortunate inmates.

There’s a bit of fun to be had at the expense of the daft homosexuality-thwarting programme, which ranges from ‘Blessercise’ videos to creepy repurposing of familiar therapy jargon/bullshit to serve creepy, bigoted evangelical Christian ends. Each ‘disciple’ is instructed to draw their own iceberg chart, revealing the underlying causes of their sin, and there’s much guff about being the agent of your own change alongside hectoring, rhetorical questions both idiotic (“Would you let drug addicts throw parades for themselves?”) and loaded (“When did your same sex attraction get in the way of your goals?”). Alas, it’s hard to suppress a shameful, unintended snigger as Cameron falls in with a pair of rather thinly sketched, cynical, pot-smoking outsiders from indie flick diversity central casting: a sensitive, bisexual Native American lad (Goodluck) and a unipedal punky girl with dreadlocks (American Honey star Lane).

The tragedy, when it turns up on cue, is clearly intended to underline the dangers of such emotionally abusive herding of gay teens back into the closet by clueless, bullying zealots, but still feels rather shoehorned in to what is essentially a rather low-watt drama. Fortunately, Moretz is on fine form as the watchful, erotic fantasy-prone Cameron, in a measured, understated performance that skewers religious hypocrisy without resorting to histrionics. Her star power may succeed in bringing in a non-niche audience, while also providing lesbian punters with their new favourite crush.