The mean girls of Hollywood teen movies won’t survive the rough-and-tumble teen playground of “Toxic,” where economic exploitation and harsh body-image standards rule bullies and their prey alike. Set in an industrial Lithuanian town where the asphalt has seen better days, Saulė Bliuvaitė’s impressive debut is powerful and uncompromising in its depiction of the punishment and self-abuse endured by girls enrolled in a nocturnal modeling academy—where the vague promise of escape to almost anywhere is enough to spur terrifying extremes of disordered eating and body modification. Sober but not without flashes of tenderness and humor as female friendship takes root in a hopeless place, this Locarno Competition entry can expect a healthy festival run, with interest from more daring arthouse distributors.
“Toxic” promises something serious from its opening shot, as 13-year-old Maria (Vesta Matulite) stands alone, shivering in her swimsuit, in a high school locker room while her classmates verbally assault her—and they take aim at the limp she has been born with. Director of photography Vytautas Katkus’s high-angle camera has the effect of immobilizing this already vulnerable character like a specimen in a petri dish, though Bluvet wouldn’t always favor such forensic detachment. The film’s alternations between cool composure and almost kinetic movement are in keeping with Maria’s wobbly sense of self, while the occasional transitions to the soaring, slow-motion spectacle of a music video feel like a reflection of the future she and her peers have imagined for themselves.
Maria moves to this nameless town, a collection of cobblestone lots, concrete blocks, and prefabricated houses, where her mercurial mother sent her to live with her humble florist grandmother. Friendless and bored, she has few social options but to confront her tormentors in the hope of succeeding. After a brutal fight over a stolen pair of jeans, Maria finally finds an ally in Christina (Eva Rubikaite), a petite, prickly blonde who can admit what the other appearance-obsessed bullies are loath to admit about Maria: She’s tall and striking, in a way that could open doors for working-class girls with no clear prospects. Inner beauty doesn’t matter much in this scene, but the simple remark that she’s pretty is a warm gesture Maria has never known before.
Christina has already enrolled at a local fashion school, whose modest grey buildings belie its claims to send successful graduates onto the catwalks of Paris and Tokyo. Given her disability, Maria has never considered modelling, but in an effort to stay close to her new friend, she follows suit – only to be quickly singled out as a particularly promising candidate. The education on offer, such as it is, is a soul-crushing routine of endless treadmill instruction and daily body measurements, with gold stars awarded for weight loss. This priority is so all-consuming that the already-reedy Christina seeks serious bonus points, throwing her dinner out her bedroom window and buying tapeworms on the black market to further hollow out her guts.
It’s a disturbing reminder of the punitive physical standards that young girls are still subjected to, even as body positivity is superficially entrenched in popular culture. Maria’s rising social status as a potential model brings both girls increased attention from older local boys, though they’re unprepared for the complexities of sex as currency—while Christina naively attempts to trade her body for money, as the financial demands of modeling school escalate in predictable, clichéd fashion.
Bluvet’s screenplay doesn’t delve into the sleazy details of an industry that everyone knows is corrupt. She’s more interested in the tense, complicated relationship between two girls who become emotionally dependent on each other, even as each stokes the other’s most damaging insecurities—forcing the audience to wonder for themselves whether a potentially toxic friendship is better than nothing. The exceptional performances of the lead duo (the painfully regressive and physically calm Mattoletti, and the aggressive and restless Rubicette) gradually suggest two halves of a more cohesive entity. It’s hard not to be moved when Maria and Christina’s respect for each other evolves from a kind of conditional mutual exploitation into something more raw and hurtful: no shiny friendship bracelets here, just fragile, hard-won care.
