Cold Black Water

In the wake of Columbine, it took 4 years for American filmmakers to directly address the subject of school shootings. However, a sub-genre of films about teens and violence has been gradually emerging. Its concerns aren't restricted to the U.S. Japanese director Kinji Fukasaku's cult film Battle Royale, about a vicious game in which high school students are forced to kill each other by the government, caused controversy at home and depicted adolescent violence so explicitly that it may have doomed its chances of getting an American release. Even it stops short of the complete nihilism of Larry Clark's meretricious Bully.

The troubled kids of Jacob Aaron Estes' promising directorial debut Mean Creek are not in the same league as Clark's debauched (but sexy!) monsters. Instead, Estes' film feels like a combination of Tim Hunter's River's Edge and David Gordon Green's George Washington, fusing the former's ethical dilemmas with the latter's arty touches and rural setting. Alas, it only really establishes its own identity in its final 20 minutes.

Sam (Rory Culkin) gets beaten up on a daily basis by the overweight bully George (Joshua Peck). When he tells his older brother Rocky (Trevor Morgan) about this abuse, the two plot revenge. Telling George that they're celebrating Sam's birthday, they invite him on a rafting trip. Secretly, they plan to entice him into stripping off his clothes and then force him to walk home naked. Rocky's friends Clyde (Ryan Kelley) and Marty (Scott Mechlowicz) and Sam's girlfriend Millie (Carly Schroeder) come along for the ride. Away from school, George seems far nicer, although somewhat overbearing and eager to fit in. Sam wants to call the plan off, but Marty insists on going ahead.

The world of Mean Creek is a vicious one, with constant jostling for the position of alpha male. Marty's desire to humiliate George has more to do with lust for power than any sense of vigilante justice. Marty wants to be top dog, but he's kicked around in kind by his buddies Kyle and Jasper. George and Marty constantly call their friends "faggot" and "pussy," and although none of the kids appear to be queer, Clyde comes in for special homophobic abuse because he was raised by a gay male couple. Stuck in this toxic climate, the quiet, introspective Sam is often literally left speechless.

George carries around a video camera and claims to be shooting a documentary. Early on, this device is a gimmicky way for Estes to spice up his film's style. When he falls in the water, he's conveniently carrying the camcorder, so the director can capture some impressionistic views of the river. In other ways, Mean Creek feels like an adult's fantasy. The soundtrack, filled with hip indie rock, seems guided by the filmmakers' personal taste rather than what their characters might like. Most of their real-life counterparts listen to Linkin Park and 50 Cent, not Death Cab For Cutie. Sam and Millie's dialogue isn't quite convincing, sounding far too measured for their years.

Fortunately, Rory Culkin's performance is strong enough to carry much of Mean Creek. His vulnerability rings true, as does the intelligence and moral determination behind it. He's prematurely weary and worn. Peck brings a complex combination of innocence and aggression to George, who's never demonized. In fact, Marty comes off far worse.

The parents in Mean Creek are mostly absent, although its few glimpses of family life don't look so bad. Like River's Edge, this film examines what kind of ethical code will evolve in the absence of adult guidance. The characters of River's Edge weren't amoral; they simply felt that loyalty to a friend outweighed the need to report him as a killer. Mean Creek is far more reassuring, ultimately—and facilely—pinning most of the blame for its nastiness on Marty.

Estes makes his mark at last in the film's final reel. It benefits from his greatest strength, his accomplished direction of actors. Much of this section consists of wordless brooding—one climactic scene is an intense emotional exchange devoid of speech. He develops a shadowy, noir-inflected style. In context, the use of video, which initially seems gratuitous, takes on an elegiac pathos. For all its contrivances and hesitations, Mean Creek showcases a real, promising talent—even if he might be better off writing about characters his own age.

(Mean Creek opens today at Regal's Green Hills Commons 16.)