Little Trouble Girls review – profoundly sensuous cinema

It feels churlish to complain about the queer coming of age drama, especially when such films originate from countries that are particularly hostile towards LGBTQ+ people. Often conflated with the coming out drama, us queer cinephiles know their narrative beats off by heart and it’s sometimes hard to suppress an eye-roll. Little Trouble Girls, a debut by Slovenian director Urška Djukić which takes its title from a Sonic Youth song, certainly doesn’t boast a strikingly original set-up. Lucija (Jara Sofija Ostan) is a shy, virginal 16-year-old with a severe fringe who’s yet to start her period. She’s irrepressibly drawn to Ana-Marija (Mina Švajger), a popular, vivacious fellow member of the choir at their strict Catholic girls’ school. Cue sneaky sideways glances in sun-dappled gardens and fingertips brushing against each other while passing hymn sheets.

But stripped back, affecting performances from two newcomers and arresting cinematography make this a tactile, tender portrayal of doomed first love. Religious reverence and female sexuality are presented as intertwined transcendent experiences: ​“God’s touch spills over your body,” a nun tells the transfixed girls. Djukić presents her mission statement plainly from the film’s opening, laying the sound of pulsing, feminine sighs over a yonic medieval illustration of Christ’s wound. Those sighs are revealed to be the vocal warmups of a choir rehearsal where Lucija is fatefully placed next to rebellious Ana-Marija. Their chemistry is electric; Lucija is cautiously entranced by this luminous being, while Ana-Marija seems determined to break down her introverted new friend’s defences.

Tensions simmer as a weekend school trip to a convent in early summer has hormones running wild. Hyper masculine, distinctly adult sexuality invades this most feminine of spaces via workmen whose sweat glistens under the hot 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 looks on in quiet awe, or maybe envy. A worse version of this story would have Lucija’s attraction to her Queen Bee schoolmate be unrequited, but Djukić chooses a less obvious and more interesting path.

There’s a painterly precision to the cinematography, with certain tableaux evoking Picnic at Hanging Rock (1975)’s woozy, languid eroticism. A boxy 3:2 aspect ratio simultaneously lends a sense of confinement and intimacy, and tight close ups of hands, lips and open flowers, though somewhat trite signifiers of lesbian lust, are potent here. This is profoundly sensuous cinema; the only music is choral singing and the soundtrack is alive with whispers, sighs and the chirping of crickets.

This might all be a little bit earnest for some, too understated and maybe too chaste. But Little Trouble Girls’ muted conclusion feels authentic rather than insipid, truthful rather than excessively cruel. Grounded by compelling performances by its two leads, it’s a sexually charged but touching story of adolescent desire in all its dirtiness and divinity.