Deadgirl is, perhaps, the point where the era’s indie drama and horrors merge. There’s a dreamy, detached quality to proceedings, not dissimilar to Mean Creek (which also involves a dead body) and Brick (sharing cast member Noah Segan, who gives a strong performance despite of the film), whilst the content aligns with some of the rape revenge horrors of the 00s. It was the decade, after all, that brought back The Last House on the Left and The Hills Have Eyes and led into the regrettable remake of I Spit on Your Grave. Deadgirl feels like the distillation in these two strands into some kind of bizarre mash-ups.
One could even argue this is Stand By Me grown up, a boys own adventure rotted out thanks to toxic masculinity. There is a fascinating academic quality to Deadgirl in its conversation of the rancid side of masculinity and I’d love to read essays on this work.
But really, is this film, 15 years on, worth a revisit? Can it transcend the ick of the central narrative? And for this viewer the answer is, beyond good intentions, absolutely not. It has aged terribly, going even beyond the trend of films of male directors struggling to grapple with misogyny (Men, Last Night in Soho), and is about as much fun to consume as a tall glass of chunky milk. Strong performances and occasional beauty of shot composition is not enough for a mostly murky (visually and morally) affair. One for the curious and the completists only.