PJ (Sennott) and Josie (Edebiri) are unhappily single seniors, described, over their high school P.A. system, as “the ugly, untalented gays.” The embodiment of the song “Creep” by Radiohead, these proudly weird lesbians are each pining — PJ very openly, and Josie in a quietly pathetic way — over two beautiful and popular girls (Kaia Gerber and Havana Rose Liu, respectively). Neither strategy is working. At a preschool carnival, the two joke about having been to juvenile detention over the summer. An earnest and excitable friend (Ruby Cruz) takes them seriously and begins to spread that rumor, reinforced when the duo accidentally tap the school’s star quarterback (Nicholas Galitzine) with their car. (Their football-fixated school is almost like what someone who has never been to an American high school would conjure up if they’d only ever seen “Friday Night Lights” and “Glee,” and did absolutely no research.) The next day, they learn of their new bad-girl image and parlay it into starting a girl’s self-defense group — billed as a fight club — to get closer to their crushes.
It’s camp. Don’t fret the outrageous details. Enjoy the absurdity of the ride.
Seligman and Sennott’s script feels improvisational — in the best way. Every joke builds off what comes before it in the “yes, and …” style of improv comedy, resulting in a crescendo of absurdist dialogue that feels shockingly natural in the world that Seligman and Sennott have crafted. To use another analogy, we’re like the frogs in the pan of slowing heating water, barely noticing as Sennott and Seligman’s screenplay turns up the heat. Sometimes multiple writers can make a script feel disjointed, but these two create a lively tempo. You can almost imagine how much fun this film must have been to write
Sennott broke out in 2020, starring in Seligman’s “Shiva Baby” after the two had met at New York University, and their writing collaboration here breathes life into the relationship between PJ and Josie. “Bottoms” is as much a film about friendship as it is about trying to get into the double-zero-size jeans of the most popular girls at school. The chemistry between Sennott and Edebiri (“The Bear”) is intoxicating — made more so by a story that allows each of them to shine, individually and together. It really feels like watching childhood best friends bicker, lie and occasionally punch each other on-screen.
Violence is at the core of the film, but there’s genuine fear beneath the humor. Girls at the school join the club because they want to feel empowered, but also because students from a rival high school have attacked a female classmate of PJ and Josie in the buildup to a big football game. The club members are scared of being attacked, having seen seemingly random violence perpetrated against them all their lives. With no protection offered from boyfriends, school officials or the police, they have to take responsibility for their own safety and the safety of their peers. Kernels of deeper themes — hypermasculinity, allyship, violence against women and homophobia — are sprinkled throughout “Bottoms,” elevating the exceedingly bawdy comedy to a surprisingly relevant work of queer storytelling.
“Bottoms” feels like a natural — and long overdue — progression in the queer teen satire subgenre, building off the world created in 2000’s “But I’m a Cheerleader,” while touching on issues that are more relevant for today’s audience with a comedy that feels fresh and creative while still recognizing its forebears. When a new LGBTQ+ movie comes out, there’s often a discussion: Is it any good? Does it even matter? Shouldn’t queer people get to enjoy bad movies, too? “Bottoms” is a great movie that makes you laugh like a bad one does.
Is it a daring feminist act to manipulate women into sleeping with you? No. “Bottoms” doesn’t pretend that it is. Springing off real issues women, girls and LGBTQ+ people face, “Bottoms” is an eccentric little satire: simultaneously relevant and irreverent.
R. At area theaters. Contains crude sexual humor, pervasive coarse language and some violence. 88 minute