Full credits at IMDb
Afterschool, an exhaustingly self-serious and derivative treatise on Today's Youth, tackles two tired themes and is thus doubly tiresome. About, on the one hand, the trials of adolescence and contemporary studenthood and, on the other, the zeitgeist-y issue of cameras vis-à-vis the Internets, the film fails to engage either in a meaningful or original way. Instead, it creates something palely imitative: Haneke-esque in its finger-wagging and Van Santian in its aesthetic pretension, the watered-down movie hews close to the John Hughes playbook of high school movie stereotypes—which no amount of Bela Tarr pacing, no cloak of arthouse legitimacy, can hide. This shit is a sham.Keep reading at The L Magazine
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