Ultrasound
Reitman borrows many devices from the Wes Anderson School of Modern Filmmaking, such as the use music to convey innermost emotion. But in the case of Juno, a quirky soundtrack does not a film make. Reitman stifles the film’s emotion rather than allowing it to grow and absorb the audience as Anderson does in The Royal Tenenbaums and The Darjeeling Limited. It is hard to discern whether this is a folly of a fledgling director or a chosen path, but the former seems more plausible. Just when the audience senses a breakthrough and a connection, the lines are severed and they are left floating in a void of meaningless chatter and emotional abandonment. Reitman is most assuredly responsible for the continual letdowns, but the script needs to be divvied out its share of blame.
The script, composed by stripper-turned-screenwriter Diablo Cody, has few links to the real world, save for the coded expressions exchanged amongst 16 year-olds. The reactions and dialogue surrounding the most unfortunate scenario of teenage pregnancy are just not believable and hold little weight. Ultimately, this is where Juno comes up short and fails the competent ensemble of actors. Ironically, it is the movie June Bug (Dad’s pet name for Juno) that this production should have consulted before leaping into a nonsensical world far removed from much of the audience. June Bug was tremendously effective because it wasn’t ashamed to explore real life, but relished the impact of in-your-face humanity. Juno, on the other hand, always seems to be on the run, hiding behind its forced and unconvincing hipness.