'Me Without You'
Identity crisis

SOMEWHERE IN AN English suburb in the early '70s, two little girls, Holly and Marina, play games of trust involving shards of glass and bare feet and write a pact of unending friendship, sealed away in an empty bottle of Charlie perfume. Not quite satisfied with "best friends forever," they create a joint persona called Harina and vow to be her for the duration. That sounds dangerous, but for the first few minutes of Me Without You you wouldn't necessarily think so, given the back-garden child's paradise, the shiny happy soundtrack, and the two girls' hyperactive fits of daring and mutual adoration. Five years later, though, Harina's a split-personality case: Marina (Anna Friel) is "the pretty one," trendy and impetuous, hell-bent on being "street" enough and losing her virginity. Holly (Michelle Williams of Dawson's Creek) is bookish and frumpy (in that cinematic not-really way), has a fierce crush on her best friend's brother, follows Marina's lead in over both their heads, and is starting to look worried about the situation. By the time they hit university, they're two girls smart and pretty who can't be friends without one ruining the other's life, and the shards of glass are a warning for BFFs everywhere. It happens, especially in the movies, where the pressures of female intimacy commonly lead to homicide, misunderstandings, and sleeping with other people's boyfriends. It takes two-plus decades to work itself out, and the film darts, often way too quickly, in and out of years – through young adulthood, failed and semisuccessful relationships, and even a religious conversion – sketching out the girls' lives, together and ripping apart. The best scenes follow the two to college, where, to a soundtrack of Depeche Mode, Adam Ant, and Scritti Politti, Holly finds politics and Tarkovsky, Marina finds coke and excellent vintage dresses, and they both find themselves in bed with smarmy professor Kyle MacLachlan. Written and directed by Sandra Goldbacher (The Governess), Me Without You wants to examine those early unhappy, important friendships many of us suffered through, but its clipped pace keeps blurring the emotional details, and the increasingly binary portrayal of the two best friends may leave you with the feeling that one-half of the real-life Harina just got her revenge for an adolescence spent playing follow the leader. (Lynn Rapoport)