Review

The overall premise is ripe with possibilities that remain only partly explored in But I'm a Cheerleader, a jolly but pedestrian low-budget comedy about sexual identity. Boasting a gay sensibility the same way an erupting volcano boasts molten lava, Brian Wayne Peterson’s script starts out strong but devolves into tepid satire. Mildly amusing when it could have been searin gly funny, this is a flatly directed but gamely acted send-up of the branch of the human potential movement that advocates radical behavior modification through group therapy.

Megan (spot-on Natasha Lyonne, who, in such films as Slums of Beverly Hills and American Pie, has thus far made a career out of embodying a refreshingly shame-free attitude to female sexual expression ) is a cheerleader at her small town high school. She's dating a hunky member of the football team who thinks kissing a girl means landing his tongue on the imaginary goal posts around her epiglotis. The inside of Megan's locker is decorated with photos of women she admires and she may entertain the occasional vivid sexual thought about other girls, but everybody knows that's "normal." In short, church-going 17-year-old good student Megan is wholesome and well-adjusted in addition to being nicely endowed in the figure and self-esteem departments. Megan doesn't know what lesbians are or what they "do" and she doesn't care - she's a cheerleader.

But Megan's parents and friends overreact and conclude she's showing potentially dangerous tendencies. Cornering Megan before the big game, they have her shipped against her will to True Directions, an intimate sexual rehab facility run by the formidable Mary Brown (Cathy Moriarty) and her once-gay-now-straight assistant, Mike (Ru Paul). The other campers embody overt stereotypes of gay behavior, which can be summarized as “tough chicks” and “milquetoast guys.” Megan persists in her conviction that she's just fine and doesn't belong at True Directions because she doesn't need her libidinal impulses revamped. The central joke, telegraphed from the first reel, is that attending this particular camp will achieve the opposite result from the one Megan's devout, well-meaning parents are hoping for.

While this debut film by Jamie Babbit has its share of enjoyable, kitchy and campy moments and the actors are obviously having a blast (Bud Cort, the gloriously original misfit of Harold and Maude and "Brewster McCloud" plays Megan's pious dad; John Waters regular Mink Stole plays Megan’s well-meaning mom; reformed camp counselor Ru Paul is best known as a flamboyant drag queen, etc.), the script is too weak to completely subvert the allegedly objectionable aspects of "deviant sexuality" and those who oppose it, except by unsubtly championing gay relationships. Apparently camps designed to turn sissy boys into "real men" and butch girls into "real young ladies" actually exist; True Directions has a 5-step program (Admitting You're Homosexual, Rediscovering Your Gender Identity, Family Therapy, Demystifying the Opposite Sex, Simulated Sexual Lifestyle) that's supposed to get to the bottom of "errant" sexual desires.

Clea DuVall, who was very good as Winona Ryder's "pathological liar" roommate in Girl, Interrupted, is excellent as oddly-named Graham, the forthright dyke who has to decide whether or not to make a stand for the girl she loves or cop out to please her parents.

FilmFestivals.com reporter
Lisa Nesselson