Wild Child film review

certificate_12A

WILD CHILD

A spoilt LA brat being shipped off to an English boarding school for a spot of discipline and coming-of-age, may not on the face of it sound that the most appealing (or original) premise in the world. However this transatlantic teen romp is surprisingly watchable (after a clunky start), thanks to a neat script and directing.

The spoilt brat in question is 16 year old Poppy (Emma Roberts) who is uprooted from her pampered, shallow LA life by her despairing father (Aidan Quinn) and shipped off to the foreign world of early curfews, stern matrons, mandatory lacrosse, endless rain and various other English stereotypes under the watchful eye of headmistress Natasha Richardson.

So, what to do? Well - act up so badly that she will get expelled and sent home of course. Her British dorm-mates, less than impressed with her Malibu Barbie act, are happy to oblige and thus Poppy sets about her mischief-making. This includes snogging the headmistress's son Freddy - putting her directly in the firing line of the jealous head-girl Harriet (played with comic bitchiness by Georgia King).

The irony of all this of course is that all these antics actually bond Poppy and her English cohorts and she doesn't really want to go home after all. Trouble is, by this point another prank has gone dangerously wrong... but is Poppy to blame or her arch-nemesis?

All predictable stuff of course, but it doesn't matter with a script as competent as this (written it is by Lucy Dahl - daughter of the late great Roald.) It's also directed like a 90 minute pop video by Nick Moore, which while leaving you a bit dizzy at times, is slick enough to appeal to its target audience.

Emma Roberts also does a convincing metamorphosis from LA airhead to vulnerable teen and cameos by the likes of Nick Frost as an ubber-camp hairdresser and Daisy Donovan as the dippy gym teacher help balance the ratio of poignant to comic.

If you can cope with the glib culture-clash cliches, then this is one movie your teenage daughter will love. (You might even like it yourself too).

Kate Coffey