Fast Times at Carver High | The Nation


Fast Times at Carver High

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By a curious coincidence (as Truffaut used to say), Payne's dilemma is mirrored within Election. This comedy of resentment, based upon a book by Tom Perrotta and written for the screen by Payne and Jim Taylor, happens to concern a young woman's relentless striving to be number one (like Coca-Cola, to use her own analogy). It's also about the growing desperation of one of her high school teachers, as he understands he'll never even be Pepsi.

About the Author

Stuart Klawans
The Nation's film critic Stuart Klawans is author of the books Film Follies: The Cinema Out of Order (a finalist for...

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As you may already know, the film's bootstrapper is eleventh grader Tracy Flick (Reese Witherspoon), who in her self-improving, self-advancing drive is determined to become the next school president. She's a girl who can't leave herself alone, or anyone else for that matter. You'll notice she's always changing her hairstyle, pushing it toward some never-to-be-attained ideal. She busies herself similarly with people, who must perpetually be rearranged into props for Tracy Flick's career.

I've noticed that most commentators on Election have dwelt on Tracy's awfulness--a quality that does, in fact, echo throughout the picture like the twang of a rubber band, or the Nebraska accent that Reese Witherspoon affects. But Election also acknowledges the anxiety that lies beneath Tracy's enameled pertness. You get a sense of the trouble when she's collecting nominating signatures for her candidacy, using as bait a bowl filled with sticks of chewing gum. When a kid grabs a handful in passing, Tracy suddenly drops her bright smile to chase the miscreant halfway down the hall. "It's one per customer!" she shouts--and if you've been paying attention, you understand she's angry because she couldn't afford more than that. This campaign has stretched her budget to the limit.

The dirty secret of Election is that Tracy has every right to bear a grudge. She knows there is no such thing as fairness at George Washington Carver High School (how's that for a striver's name?)--particularly because the civics teacher and student government adviser, Jim McAllister (Matthew Broderick), treats her as if she were something that sticks out and so must be pounded down.

The film is not too delicate to point out that the thing that really demands pounding lies between McAllister's legs. But out of a frustration he can't even admit to, this man who no longer notices his wife (or the dusty Ford he drives, or the shirts that will disintegrate with two more washings) chooses Tracy as the symbol of all evil. He decides to rig the election against her. To begin, he recruits an opponent: the school's football hero, a young man from a wealthy family, who radiates a bland beneficence. Why not? He already enjoys, without effort, everything Tracy is scrambling to get.

I will not dwell on the identity and motives of the third candidate in the election (the teen lesbian anarchist to whom Election gives its heart). Nor will I detail Payne's unerring sense of place (which was evident before in Citizen Ruth, with its landscape of power lines, sheds and chain-link fences) or his use of the garbage can as visual motif. My purpose is to address the realistic basis of Tracy's rage to succeed, and the corresponding realism of McAllister's rage against her.

Translate a student-government presidency into film-industry terms. It might be likened to a distribution deal with Miramax. That's what Tracy (considered as a filmmaker) would want at this stage in her career: validation by a mini-major, with a shot later on at the big time. And what in Election represents the big time? It's the worldly goods of the football hero--goods that ostensibly can be earned, but that more often are attained by accident of birth. Let's say Election is the story of how Tracy, against considerable odds and at great cost to her soul, gets her Miramax contract. By the end, she might even be set to nail down a deal with a major.

And here's Alexander Payne, who has gone the same route--though Miramax, for him, must have offered little satisfaction, and to Paramount (it seems) he's no football hero. Caught in between, he's now given us a howling comedy that passes itself off as a high school pageant. Laugh if you dare.

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