Wild Child

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If you're the type of person who has a fourteen year old girl inside of you just bursting to get out - or are, in fact, a fourteen year old girl - then Wild Child will play like The Dark Knight with miniskirts and designer heels. However, if you've passed puberty successfully, and have no interest in the latest exploits of Paris Hilton, then frankly, sitting through this film may be akin to being at a sleepover with a gaggle of Jonas Brothers fans. Our spunky lead Poppy is played by the charming Emma Roberts, who pushes her father (Quinn) over the edge after giving away all of his new girlfriend's belongings. She is sent to a boarding school in England as punishment - which is obviously meant to be a strict totalitarian educational establishment, but comes across more like fat camp without the treadmills and obese American teenagers. Needless to say, she wants out pronto; but the more she stays, well, the more she damn well warms to the crap weather and chirpy inhabitants. But a spanner is thrown in the works by the bitchy Head Girl, who takes a disliking to Poppy when she eyeballs the object of her affections - the headmistress's son, Freddie. There are some plusses here; Roberts is noticeably growing as an actress, and does a good job of making an extremely unlikeable character likeable. Other cast members also shine - particularly Kimberly Nixon, who shows potential in a wafer-thin role. Sure, I could sit here all day, and tell you how the plot jumps from one point to another without little consequence, or how the whole thing unfolds with a mind-numbing predictability; but if you happen to be of an age where cinematic shenanigans of this ilk appeal to you, then you'll lap this up. You'll be too busy giggling at the pink-tinted anarchic exploits of the rebel Poppy, to realise that it's all as superficial as her Malibu Beach friends. Anyone who's old enough to drive might want to look elsewhere.