Sharp Stick (2021 | USA | 89 minutes | Lena Dunham)
As an admirer of Girls, Lena Dunham’s candidly self-skewering dramedy about the ongoing adventures of four post-collegiate Brooklyn “friends” (and Adam Driver), her return to feature filmmaking after more than a decade was one of my most anticipated premieres at this year’s Sundance. Conceived and filmed during the pandemic, the resulting film is certainly the most mind-boggling misfire that I’ve seen so far. I don’t want to tell anyone that the the art projects they made during the pandemic to stay busy, healthy, or sane were wrong, but this one feels like it had to make much more sense as a personal vision than something to be widely shared.
The plot is centered around a prim twenty-six-year-old woman named Sarah Jo (fresh faced, wide eyed, pouty lipped Kristine Froseth) who lives in an apartment complex with her frequently drunk or drugged five-time-divorced mother (Jennifer Jason Leigh) and wannabe influencer sister (Taylor Paige). Despite the frankness with which they openly discuss their romantic exploits, Sarah Jo has made it halfway through her third decade of life utterly unaware of anything related to sex, including even the existence of pornography on the internet (some reports suggested that Dunham originally wrote the character as neurodiverse, but thankfully changed her mind, seemingly without updating the script). It doesn’t take much convincing for her to persuade the stay-at-home dad to shatter her innocence while the special needs kid she babysits is down for his afternoon nap.
The film is a hot mess, but Jon Bernthal (in the midst of a little renaissance) lights up the screen as the DILF who gently introduces her to the world of premature ejaculation, oral sex, mushroom-fueled weekend sex marathons at instagrammable cabin getaways. Like the rest of the movie, these scenes are shot in almost fantasy format, in that each sequence seems to be occurring in its own universe. When the ill-advised affair collapses in spectacular fashion, the mode switches to an unhinged quest to fulfill an alphabet’s worth of sexual achievements, written in childish marker on a construction paper checklist on her empty bedroom’s walls. While the underlying themes might be interrogating sex-positivity or questions of identity, they actualization is so divorced from reality that it’s difficult to watch, let alone take seriously.
As much as the main storyline strains credulity beyond redemption, Dunham fills out the periphery with characters who steal the screen. She appears herself as briefly as a very pregnant mother and gets some hilarious lines. Later, she taps the timeless sexual energy of Scott Speedman as an heavily tattooed OnlyFans creator who exists solely to please his followers and gets the film’s best monologue. Taylour Paige’s brief appearances hint at a whole other universe of LA strivers begging to be explored. While Kristine Froseth gamely throws herself into the impossible role, the character is so extremely undercooked that no amount of doe-eyed commitment can salvage it.
Sharp Stick was an official selection of the Premieres section at the 2022 Sundance Film Festival. It is currently seeking US distribution.