If I had a dime for every adolescent who thinks of his/her reading of The Catcher in the Rye as the cathartic experience that gave him/her a true sense of introspection, I could buy every existing copy of this movie and burn the batch in a nice bonfire. This movie smacks of the pseudo-intelligent ramblings of a third year English major who is convinced that the angst he feels is unique.
Movies like this have been done to death. From the brilliant, misunderstood youth to the rich and powerful unfeeling parent to the smart and tough, yet sensitive and understanding authority figure, this movie is a mishmash of clichéd characters and tired plot lines. Even the northeastern prep school where the boys all wear blazers with crests and the girls all wear plaid skirts and kneesocks is hackneyed. It's all old news.
The worst part about this film is the overwhelming superciliousness that permeates the production. It's as if the writer and director have discovered this obscure, brilliant manuscript that has so affected them, and they feel the need to enlighten the world. Even the title comes across with a kind of smug exclusivity, as if to say, "only the truly illuminated, those who know the name Holden Caulfield, will understand and appreciate what we are conveying here!"
This film is neither intelligent nor edgy nor insightful. It's got a fanboy quality - a sycophantic tone - so much so that it almost seems the people behind it are trying to do something more than tell a story...like make a "serious" film about youthful angst that indie film geeks will coo over in the local alternative newspaper. Guys, you can have it.
