Frustrated fifteen year old Alma (Helene Bergsholm) indulges in erotic fantasies, phone sex and self-gratification to escape her boring life in a small rural Norwegian town called Skaddaheimen. She longs to escape to a far more exciting existence in Oslo, just like her best friends’ older sister Maria (Julia Bache-Wiig). At a party one night, Alma shares a moment of exciting intimacy with her boy-crush, Artur (Matias Myren) but when she reveals all to Ingrid (Beate Støfring) and Saralou (Malin Bjørhovde), they don’t believe her story. Artur promptly denies the incident, turning poor Alma into a laughing stock at school and around town, shunned, shamed but still hopelessly horny.
Whereas Hollywood typically treats teenage sexual desire as the subject of snickering embarrassment with the likes of Porky’s (1980), American Pie (1999) and Superbad (2007), the Scandinavian film industry have been quietly turning out a run of sensitive, observant and emotionally honest teen movies. Following the Swedish-made Show Me Love (1999) and Kid Svensk (2007), Turn Me On, Goddammit marks Norway’s turn to deliver a deliciously deadpan coming of age comedy. Adapting the well-regarded novel by Olaug Nilssen (who co-wrote the script), documentary filmmaker Jannicke Systad Jacobsen makes her fiction feature debut with an often toe-curlingly accurate depiction of teen sexual misadventure, alienation, self-loathing and social embarrassment. In a refreshing break from established mainstream tradition the focus is not on a group of geeky guys struggling to lose their virginity. Instead, the film centres around an alternately gawky and graceful young woman torn between dreams of chaste romance with the boy she likes and wanton carnal desire directed at seemingly any potential conquest. Alma’s hapless fantasies take in everyone from other boys at school besides Artur to her best friend’s dad and even, momentarily, Ingrid and prove more hilarious than salacious with the film exuding a familiar Scandinavian easygoing, understanding tone in spite of the heroine’s ongoing mishaps.
Boldly introduced masturbating on the floor while listening to a phone sex line, first-time actress Helene Bergsholm gives a laudable, open-hearted performance that grows increasingly endearing with Alma’s ongoing tragicomic efforts to appear cool, sexy and mysterious in the eyes of her peers. Much as in Show Me Love, Turn Me On... links sexual longing with the universal teenage need to escape a confining, humdrum small town existence in search of, what else, but kicks, baby, kicks. It becomes apparent that what Alma is searching for is less sexual fulfilment but instead a pathway towards maturity. Jacobsen and Nilssen lay out the perils and pitfalls along this tricky road with warmth and good humour without trivialising Alma’s journey or feeling the need to lecture. Although Alma’s mother (Henriette Steerstrup) is quietly aghast at her daughter’s erotic antics, she gives her the space and consideration to slowly work out her issues, although the film admits this may in part be because the older generation is at a loss what to do with this generation. Ironically, the anonymous guy at the other end of the phone sex chat-line proves Alma’s most patient, encouraging and understanding confidante.
The episodic narrative rambles on a bit through some abrupt plot shifts. Sub-plots detailing Saralou’s awkward courtship by shy stoner Kjartan (Lars Nordveit Listau) and her dry pen letters to American prisoners on death row prove pointless diversions, but the film remains compelling and the finale proves heartening in a wholly unsentimental way.
