text: Well, that's what this should have been called, anyway. Mainly, due the the ridiculous, ham-fisted use of what can barely be called symbolism by the director. It would not have surprised me to find out that this was A) One of Lea Pool's earliest efforts, and B) at least semi-autobiographical. Turns out A is wrong, although I don;t know about B. I will bet she attended boarding school, though, and had a rather terrible same-sex relationship of SOME kind. This is the message that was beat down our throats by this film, and the short film which preceded it, the name of which I no longer recall.<br /><br />At any rate, the character development was clumsy (Who introduces herself by saying what her name means? Nobody.) the symbols were about as subtle as an all-glass elevator full of teen-age girls losing a cable and plummeting eighty stories. All over a loudspeaker. Honestly, the cry of a falcon when Perabo declared she was a raptor and leapt off the table? That was ridiculous to the point of parody. And it was only one of far too many symbols meant to show even the dumbest of viewers what her point was. And that was that she had a crappy childhood and feels the need to make movies about it, ala Vincent Gallo, instead of seeing a therapist, ala all of us who get on with our lives. There was nothing tender, nothing sweet, and nothing moving about this film. It was poorly enacted trash, and the actors could not save the Brett Ratneresque over the top "HEY THIS IS MY POINT IN THIS MOVIE" use of film techniques, writing, and acting. Sorry, but it was terrible.