This might be the first time I've ever seen nostalgia as horror. Sofia Coppola's The Virgin Suicides (1999) reflects on the "free-for-all" suicides of the five Lisbon sisters with a lackadaisically amused glimpse. The sunlight always manages to get in your eyes in this film, and it's hard to tell what we're actually seeing and what might be happening behind the stifle of closed doors. Is this a horror film? Maybe not, but I felt a real dread whenever I was in the Lisbon household, a sweat that wouldn't get off my skin. It was like going through an unpleasant dream; not necessarily a nightmare, but I wanted to wake up. I wanted out of this wealthy town because I couldn't breathe.
The movie is very good, but in a sickly-sweet sort of way. I think it lacks a bit of focus; the main story is about the obsession of a town over these girls' suicides, told from the perspective of young, obsessive boys. However, Coppola also seems interested in the time period, adding numerous distracting rock songs and side-plots that don't add enough to the movie's general progression. Trip Fontaine's story is interesting, but it doesn't feel complete; the other girls are not fleshed out enough, and we start to view them like Children of the Corn. Once again, prove me wrong that this is not a horror story. This is a film of memories, but they are memories we wish we could forget. Like the image of a 13 year old girl in her father's arms. Or a set of petite feet in church shoes dangling over the floor. Or a still-smoking cigarette in a pale, still hand.
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