It's considered rude to complain about queer coming-of-age dramas, especially when these films come from countries particularly hostile to LGBTQ+ people. Often confused with coming-out dramas, queer cinephiles know their narratives all too well, and sometimes it's hard not to roll their eyes. Little Trouble Girls, the debut film by Slovenian director Urška Djukić, whose title comes from a Sonic Youth song, doesn't boast a particularly original plot.
Lucija (Jara Sofija Ostan) is a shy, virginal 16-year-old with a prominent fringe who hasn't yet started her period. She feels irresistibly drawn to Ana-Marija (Mina Švajger), a popular and vivacious choirmate at her strict Catholic girls' school. This is further fueled by furtive glances in the sunlit gardens and the brush of fingers as they turn the pages of hymn books.
Director: Urska Djukic
Writers: Urska Djukic, Marina Gumzi, Maria Bohr
Stars: Jara Sofija Ostan, Mina Svajger, Sasa Tabakovic
But the minimalist, poignant performances of two newcomers and captivating cinematography make it a tactile and tender portrait of a doomed first love. Religious reverence and female sexuality are presented as intertwined, transcendent experiences: “The touch of God pours over your body,” a nun tells the captivated girls. Djukić makes his mission clear from the film’s opening, layering the sound of throbbing female sighs over a medieval, yonic illustration of Christ’s wound. Those sighs are revealed to be the vocal preludes to a choir rehearsal where Lucija is fatefully placed next to the rebellious Ana-Marija. Their chemistry is electrifying; Lucija is cautiously drawn to this luminous being, while Ana-Marija seems determined to break down her introverted new friend’s defenses.
The tension intensifies as a weekend school trip to a convent in early summer unleashes a surge of hormones. A hypermasculine, distinctly adult sexuality invades this otherwise feminine space through laborers whose sweat glistens under the scorching sun, while in the dormitory, Ana-Marija dares Lucija to "passionately kiss the most beautiful girl in the convent." She chooses a white marble statue of the Virgin Mary, and Ana-Marija observes it with silent admiration, or perhaps envy. A less flattering version of this story would have Lucija's attraction to her classmate, the Queen Bee, go unrequited, but Djukić chooses a less obvious and more interesting path.
The cinematography possesses a painterly precision, with certain shots evoking the languid, dazed eroticism of Picnic at Hanging Rock (1975). A square 3:2 aspect ratio simultaneously conveys a sense of confinement and intimacy, and the close-ups of hands, lips, and open flowers, while somewhat hackneyed indicators of lesbian lust, are potent. This is profoundly sensual cinema; The only music is a choir, and the soundtrack is filled with whispers, sighs, and the chirping of crickets.
All of this might strike some as a bit serious, too understated, and perhaps too chaste. But the understated ending of Little Trouble Girls feels authentic rather than bland, truthful rather than overly cruel. With compelling performances from its two leads, it's a sexually charged yet poignant story about teenage desire in all its rawness and divine power.
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