Never get out of (high school) alive

Thomas Mann and Olivia Cooke in a scene from "Me and Earl and the Dying Girl." Courtesy Fox Searchlight Pictures, (C) 20th Century Fox.

There are so, so many reasons “Me and Earl and the Dying Girl” comes ever so close to devolving into a disaster. The lead is a white, angst-ridden, middle-class high school boy, the film is loaded with references to other films to a heightened degree, and one of the three main characters is a girl with cancer. “Me and Earl and the Dying Girl” doesn't just walk on thin ice, it hops up and down while wearing metal boots.

So it's to the credit of the filmmakers and collection of young actors involved that “Me and Earl and the Dying Girl” not only works, it evolves into a marvelous little movie that occasionally abandons verisimilitude yet still tells a poignant story with levity and a light touch.

The “Me” in the film's title is Greg (Thomas Mann), a reserved high-school senior trying to skate by as quietly as possible while living with his eccentric parents (Nick Offerman and Connie Britton, continuing her reign as media's coolest mom). When he's not blending in the background at school, Mann spends his free time filming parodies of classic films (for example, “Senior Citizen Kane”) with his so-called partner Earl (RJ Cyler), who also seems to have problems fitting into the school's social web.

Skating by ceases to be an option after Britton forces him to hang out with Rachel (Olivia Cooke) – the titular dying girl who is diagnosed with cancer and lives with her lush of a mom, Denise (Molly Shannon). The friendship is rocky at first, but it deepens as Cooke continues her treatment and Mann opens up little by little, even showing her a few of his films. Mann is eventually enlisted by high-school crush Madison (Katherine Hughes) to make a film for Cooke, a project that  becomes more and more difficult as Cooke's condition worsens and Mann loses his precious anonymity. Also on hand are Jon Bernthal as an insanely cool teacher and a few bizarre students to flesh out a very movie-fied Pittsburgh high school.

Similar to this classic, but without Tina Fey.

Figuring out how to categorize“Me and Earl and the Dying Girl” is tricky because it eschews a simple classification. The film instead aims to be an amalgamation of diverse genres, from cancer weepies and high school parodies to indie comedies and films about filmmaking (a la “Sunset Boulevard.”) That sounds a little messy, but director Alfonso Gomez-Rejon and screenwriter Jesse Andrews, who wrote the novel the movie is based on, use the absence of categorization to tell a simple coming of age story deepened by the other components. “Me and Earl and the Dying Girl” is about Mann's Greg getting over himself, and his way of doing so is through cinema and, most notably, through his complicated friendship with Cooke's Rachel.

The process though is often painful to watch. Greg, like legendary embodiment of teen angst Holden Caulfield, is a perpetual pain in the butt. He’s a petulant child focused so much on his own needs he doesn't want to understand what Cooke is going through; hell, most of the time Mann and Cooke spend together features Mann complaining about one thing or another. Mann’s character comes ever so close to earning a punch to the face, but he never quite crosses the punchable threshold thanks to the performer’s underlying melancholy that proves endearing. Andrews plays a prominent role in that as well: his script constantly calls out the central character for his selfishness. As Cyler's Earl says at one point, “Don't make this all about you.”

He is certainly not the Cosmos.

“Me and Earl and the Dying Girl” is mostly about Mann; that makes sense given the first word in the title is “me.” But the film at least spreads the focus a bit to add a little Earl (that's a good thing; Cyler is pretty great) and a lot of Rachel, which is very much to the film's benefit. Greg may be the main character, but the heart and soul of the story belongs to Cooke's Rachel, who suffers through her cancer with grace, dignity and a maturity that belies her age. Even as the situation worsens and hope begins to dwindle, Rachel is never a victim of her circumstances or the cancer; she owns up to her mortality and faces it with courage and verve. Cooke, who puts on a wonderful performance, never succumbs to the movie cancer that wrings alligator tears from even the most noble actors and actresses; the audience feels for her fight, but she's never a pitiable figure.

Cooke grounds a film prone to flights of animated fancy and the occasional high-school stereotype for storytelling ease. She’s a major reason why “Me and Earl and the Dying Girl” succeeds rather than devolving into the kind of film-school thesis that drapes itself in forced quirkiness.

Review: Four and a half out of Five Stars

Click here to see the trailer.

Rating: PG-13

Run time: 105 minutes

Genre: Dramatic Comedy

Ask Away

Target audience: Independent film followers in search of a quality entry into that field, as well as fans of well-made high school flicks.

Take the whole family?: This is one of those rare occasions where the PG-13 rating fits well. It wouldn't be a huge problem for a 12 year old or anything, but the heavy subject matter might bother anyone too young.

Theater or Netflix?: Worth a matinee trip for sure.

How much of the film is owed to other films?:  Almost all of it, really. Multiple shout outs are given to Francois Truffaut's “The 400 Blows” and Werner Herzog's oeuvre, and there are touches of Billy Wilder, Wes Anderson, Alfonso Cuaron and countless other directors as well. The film literally wears its influences on its sleeves; one character sports a jacket with a notable “Dawn of the Dead” patch on it.

Watch this as well?: “The Kings of Summer” is another solid indie flick about young men growing up with fantastical elements and slightly odd undertones, along with a performance by Nick Offerman. Might as well watch “The 400 Blows” and just about anything by Werner Herzog too; they play prominent roles in the film and are just awesome.

                     From "400 Blows," one of the most poignant scenes in cinema history.