Hal Hefner, the teenage nerd hero played by Reece Daniel Thompson in Rocket Science, has the most prodigious stutter since Roger Daltrey got snagged pronouncing the “G” in The Who’s 1965 hit “My Generation.” And yet, Thompson’s tongue-tied tour-de-force signifies so much less. While Daltry’s g-g-g-g-g-g agitated to the point of rebellious impudence, Thompson’s stutter as Hal just seems precious. It’s indicative of the self-pitying narcissism found in so many indie youth movies—from Donnie Darko to anything starring Joseph Gordon-Levitt.
For a while, Hal’s effort to overcome his stutter by daring to enter the Plainsboro High School debating championship—and simultaneous win over the female debate queen, Ginny—seems like a virtuous challenge. Such a feat of egotism and skill might be worthy of Ferris Bueller. But director/writer Jeffrey Blitz forces Hal’s nerdiness to overwhelm any ideal or personal strength (the secret of Ferris Bueller’s appeal). This kid is beset with nothing but problems: a tyrannical older brother, divorcing parents, including his mother who dates an ethnically-different weirdo—all of it complicated by his speech defect and outsider school status.
None of this feels fresh. Blitz’s pandering to indie-teen clichés feels downright arrogant. Fact is, Rocket Science isn’t a realistic portrait of contemporary youth. The adolescent obsession with looks, media, career and materialism don’t affect Hal. Rather, his isolated egghead’s dilemma is only familiar from numerous smart-teen movies: Welcome to the Dollhouse, Election, American Beauty, Rushmore, Bring It On, Roger Dodger, Tadpole, Mean Girls, Napoleon Dynamite. Hal’s underdog story lacks the originality of even the worst of those films; instead, Blitz offers artificial adolescent nostalgia. Poor, pitiful Hal encourages viewers to feel sentimental about their own adolescent miseries and painful memories of their insecure smarts regarding language, sex and other people’s moral compromises. It’s a depressing illustration of what one-time rock ’n’ roll rebellion has led to: the self-obsessed prime demographic. Blitz’s most calculated ploy is the oddball music score by Eef Barzelay, featuring a cello and piano rendition of The Violent Femmes. It’s a Blitzkrieg of sentimentality-and-cynicism aimed at the hipster market.
Blitz first demonstrated this snideness in his 2005 documentary Spellbound, an undeservedly popular observation of spelling bee competition. Pared down to a suspenseful contest, the event became Blitz’s kiddie-porn exhibition of one-upsmanship. Critics enjoyed watching children suffer as a metaphor for heartless careerism. Blitz zeroed in on the torment of being brainy—an inflated concern suited to people who believe in high school’s Most Likely to Succeed polls. No wonder critics praised Spellbound but disparaged Akeelah and the Bee where the spelling bee revealed a community’s forgotten dreams and hidden grace. Blitz’s canny emphasis on individual superiority appeals to the worst tendencies of today’s culture.
In Rocket Science, the big debate turns into freaky showing-off—a speed-talking specialty that Hal studies under an anxious former debating champ (Nicholas D’Agosto who had a small but memorable role as the whistle-blower in Election). Hal’s self pitying realization that he knows as little about life as anyone else doesn’t humanize him; it simply proves he’s a less interesting character than either Ferris Bueller, Akeelah or Rushmore’s Max Fischer.
Despite Blitz’s many indie references, Hal is not an archetypal troubled teen; merely a forlorn and formulaic boy with a problem. And just as Rocket Science gets garbled up in its own cuteness, Hal represents the d-d-d-d-d-degeneration of the indie teen movie.
For a while, Hal’s effort to overcome his stutter by daring to enter the Plainsboro High School debating championship—and simultaneous win over the female debate queen, Ginny—seems like a virtuous challenge. Such a feat of egotism and skill might be worthy of Ferris Bueller. But director/writer Jeffrey Blitz forces Hal’s nerdiness to overwhelm any ideal or personal strength (the secret of Ferris Bueller’s appeal). This kid is beset with nothing but problems: a tyrannical older brother, divorcing parents, including his mother who dates an ethnically-different weirdo—all of it complicated by his speech defect and outsider school status.
None of this feels fresh. Blitz’s pandering to indie-teen clichés feels downright arrogant. Fact is, Rocket Science isn’t a realistic portrait of contemporary youth. The adolescent obsession with looks, media, career and materialism don’t affect Hal. Rather, his isolated egghead’s dilemma is only familiar from numerous smart-teen movies: Welcome to the Dollhouse, Election, American Beauty, Rushmore, Bring It On, Roger Dodger, Tadpole, Mean Girls, Napoleon Dynamite. Hal’s underdog story lacks the originality of even the worst of those films; instead, Blitz offers artificial adolescent nostalgia. Poor, pitiful Hal encourages viewers to feel sentimental about their own adolescent miseries and painful memories of their insecure smarts regarding language, sex and other people’s moral compromises. It’s a depressing illustration of what one-time rock ’n’ roll rebellion has led to: the self-obsessed prime demographic. Blitz’s most calculated ploy is the oddball music score by Eef Barzelay, featuring a cello and piano rendition of The Violent Femmes. It’s a Blitzkrieg of sentimentality-and-cynicism aimed at the hipster market.
Blitz first demonstrated this snideness in his 2005 documentary Spellbound, an undeservedly popular observation of spelling bee competition. Pared down to a suspenseful contest, the event became Blitz’s kiddie-porn exhibition of one-upsmanship. Critics enjoyed watching children suffer as a metaphor for heartless careerism. Blitz zeroed in on the torment of being brainy—an inflated concern suited to people who believe in high school’s Most Likely to Succeed polls. No wonder critics praised Spellbound but disparaged Akeelah and the Bee where the spelling bee revealed a community’s forgotten dreams and hidden grace. Blitz’s canny emphasis on individual superiority appeals to the worst tendencies of today’s culture.
In Rocket Science, the big debate turns into freaky showing-off—a speed-talking specialty that Hal studies under an anxious former debating champ (Nicholas D’Agosto who had a small but memorable role as the whistle-blower in Election). Hal’s self pitying realization that he knows as little about life as anyone else doesn’t humanize him; it simply proves he’s a less interesting character than either Ferris Bueller, Akeelah or Rushmore’s Max Fischer.
Despite Blitz’s many indie references, Hal is not an archetypal troubled teen; merely a forlorn and formulaic boy with a problem. And just as Rocket Science gets garbled up in its own cuteness, Hal represents the d-d-d-d-d-degeneration of the indie teen movie.
