QUIET HEARTBREAK
‘PALM TREES,’ AN UNFLINCHING DRAMA ABOUT SEXUAL GROOMING, GIVES DEPTH AND AGENCY TO THE LONELY TEENAGER AT ITS HEART
If 2022 was a banner year for first-time features — and it was — “Palm Trees and Power Lines” was an early high point, with Jamie Dack taking a deserved directing prize at Sundance for an impressively assured debut.
The chronicle of a 17-year-old high school student whose summer torpor is interrupted by a charismatic older man, this closely observed drama grows steadily more disquieting as it goes on, with Dack — working from a script she co-wrote with Audrey Findlay — never allowing its more prurient elements to overtake the heartbreak at its emotional core.
Lea (Lily McInerny, in a breakout performance) spends her time watching online makeup tutorials and sunbathing and getting high with her best friend, Amber (Quinn Frankel), occasionally hooking up with a schoolmate named Jared (Timothy Taratchila), when she catches the eye of Tom (Jonathan Tucker), a handsome 35year-old who comes to the rescue when her posse leaves her in the lurch after stiffing a waitress for their bill. The two develop a tentative friendship, with Lea relieved finally to be free of her alternately apathetic and stifling mother (Gretchen Mol) and peers who are going nowhere fast. Tom is sympathetic to her problems, as well as to the pain of having an absent father, a role he sidles into with the expert subtlety of someone who’s had plenty of practice.
The audience will see where
this is going, even as they hold out hope that Tom might be the nice guy he’s so intent on impersonating. “Palm Trees and Power Lines” recalls some classic coming-of-age films, including Joyce Chopra’s under-remembered “Smooth Talk,” as well as “Thirteen” and “Fish Tank,” limning the inner life of a drifting adolescent with equal parts alarm and empathy. As an unflinchingly honest portrait of sexual trafficking, it’s also of a piece with “Zola” and “Red Rocket,” albeit without the chatty bravado of the former and leering opportunism of the latter.
Instead of striking those postures, Dack and her film keep things at a quiet, harrowing simmer, focusing on Lea as the reality of her situation finally sinks in. Like so many of his ilk, Tom gets her hooked — not on alcohol or drugs, but on approval and attention, using the language of care and protection to reassure and lure her in. Compared with Jared — who dismissively
demands that she move over after they have sex in the back of his car — Tom is a knight in shining armor, even if it does come with more than a few insidious conditions.
Part of what makes “Palm Trees and Power Lines” so courageous is that Dack doesn’t shy away from Lea’s pleasure, psychic and physical. But she manages to give the character sexual agency without reducing her to a stereotype. Instead, her insecurity and confusion are always at the fore in a story that, by the time it reaches its devastating climactic moments, is both shocking and queasily understandable. With “Palm Trees and Power Lines,” Dack has created a haunting portrait of how trust is manipulated and abused; the trust she builds up with her characters and audience, however, remains steadfast, resulting in a film of disarming candor and power.