Among the reasons that West Side Story became an enduring masterpiece, and there are many, using musical numbers to fracture the stereotypical monosyllabic teenage facade ranks highly. Caught between childhood and adulthood, adolescents might not be known for their eloquence or effusiveness, as Jerome Bernstein and Stephen Sondheim understood. However, their inner emotional world, their hopes and struggles included, can be revealed through song and dance.
Set on the dusty streets of a drought-stricken outback Australian town rather than New York, The Deb is built from this truth as well, just as Grease and The Prom were too when they too took their teen-centric tales from the stage to cinemas.
Adapting the production first mounted by the Australian Theatre for Young People in 2022, Rebel Wilson’s directorial debut also recalls Heathers and Mean Girls at times, plus Hairspray and High School Musical – and while that quartet of titles all reached screens initially, and only the latter two as musicals, it’s hardly astonishing that musical theatre eventually beckoned for each.
The Deb review – quick links
Embracing Australia and Aussie film greats
Equally unsurprising is that iconic 90s Aussie films Strictly Ballroom, The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert and Muriel’s Wedding also helped pave the way for The Deb. None are big-screen musicals, with Australia’s historical contribution to the genre thin. Still, music is essential in spinning their stories – so much so that all three have since sparked singing-and-dancing stage versions.
A wholehearted embrace of Australia at its most quintessential also assisted in endearing these three films – Baz Luhrmann’s debut feature, Stephan Elliott’s Oscar-winner and PJ Hogan’s ABBA-worshipping hit – to audiences at home and internationally. The Deb unshrinkingly shares this gleeful affection for all things innately Aussie, whether dropping the C-word or skewering a Prime Minister holidaying during a natural disaster.
It’s fitting casting, then, that lead Natalie Abbott portrayed the titular role in Muriel’s Wedding the Musical, and that co-star Tara Morice is a Strictly Ballroom alum.
Wilson is a spirited and enthusiastic filmmaker – including when demonstrating her love for her clear influences and while overseeing largely energetic musical numbers – but The Deb’s knack for casting all but her own role is the movie’s greatest strength.
From Sydney to the outback
Penned for the stage by Hannah Reilly and Meg Washington, with Reilly also writing the film’s screenplay, The Deb heads to the fictional town of Dunburn with Sydneysider Maeve Simpkins (North Shore’s Charlotte MacInnes, returning from the theatre production).
When the lively FML opens the picture with a peek into her city life as a harbourside-dwelling private-school girl whose main personality trait is performative activism (and kicks off the movie with its catchiest tune), a rural stint couldn’t be further from Maeve’s plans. Then a protest turns to scandal, the kind that sees her labelled ‘cancel pig’ across social media.
(Not just because it also features Ioane Saula among its actors, The Deb also brings the recent Heartbreak High revival and Bump to mind, should either ever get the musical treatment.)
Maeve’s school-principal mother (Susan Prior, The Last Anniversary) both suspends her and ships her off to stay with her farmer-slash-country mayor uncle Rick (Shane Jacobson, Jack Irish). But the biggest news in Dunburn isn’t her arrival. Rather, it’s the year’s impending debutante ball, which her mercilessly bullied cousin Taylah (Abbott, Austin) hopes will finally be her own moment in the spotlight.
Though visibly unimpressed, Maeve feigns interest, including in the townsfolk, when she decides to turn the ball and its ‘antiquated heteronormative bullshit’ into an exposé podcast as her ticket back to online popularity.
ScreenHub: After a dramatic journey, Aussie film The Deb is set to hit cinema screens
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The impact of excellent leads
When Taylah and Maeve first cross paths, one happily riding a tractor down the road and the other contemptuous about everything in sight, The Deb trades in shorthand. The film doesn’t stop there.
With an out-of-town newcomer thrust into an insular world and an overlooked local yearning for her time to shine, plus a besties-meets-frenemies central dynamic and clique of mean girls – which sees screen debutant Stevie Jean, Brianna Bishop (Emo: The Musical) and Karis Oka (Strife) playing members of a wannabe girl group called The Pixie Cups – The Deb’s coming-of-age narrative overflows with stock character types and details.
An overbearing stage mother (Wilson as Annabelle’s mum) and save-the-town quest continue the trend, as does the potential romance between uncle Rick and dressmaker Shell (Tara Morice), and the eventful blowout that is the deb ball when it rolls around.
And yet, even with familiarity as easy to spot as the pavlova-esque gowns that Dunburn’s young women are expected to don for their big night, Abbott and MacInnes excel, bringing depth to their vocals and fleshing out these feuding cousins.
The Deb’s broad strokes are still just that – broad – however, from her own acting career, Wilson is well-aware of the importance and transformative impact of powerhouse leads that can make archetypes feel like they’ve waltzed into the movie from real life.
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Rebel Wilson in front of and behind the lens
Abbott infuses Taylah with equal parts longing, pluck, vulnerability and fortitude, in what deserves to be as star-making a turn as Muriel’s Wedding proved to be for Toni Collette. MacInnes, too, ensures that what you see with Maeve isn’t solely what you get, as her character’s fish-out-of-water plight sparks her own journey of self-discovery and acceptance.
The Deb’s patent love-yourself theme filters through almost every subplot and frame, sweepingly shot by States of Mind’s Ross Emery. Deb balls might task teens with unveiling their best selves to the world, but it’s all just empty pageantry if that self isn’t real.
Indeed, that’s why Wilson’s on-screen efforts miss the mark. In a movie filled with characters striving to love every aspect of themselves, to appreciate themselves as more than the easy guise they usually inhabit, Wilson sticks with her familiar role of over-the-top comic support, as served her well in her scene-stealing appearances in Pitch Perfect and Bridesmaids.
She isn’t alone in primarily playing for laughs. Steph Tisdell (Bump), as the mayor’s assistant, and Sam Simmons (Wakefield), as the resident cop, both do the same.
Knowing when to embrace tradition and when to subvert it – and why – drives not only the storyline but much of the film’s humour, particularly in Reilly and Washington’s snappy lyrics. Wilson hasn’t taken that note as an actor. Thankfully, she lives and breathes it as a director, and the welcome result is a charming-enough silver-screen teen musical – plus a rare addition to Aussie movie musicals.
