Some Girl(s)

If we’re judged by the company that we keep, how would the world regard us if all they had to draw on was our collection of exes? That was the premise of Some Girl(s), a 2005 play from playwright/filmmaker Neil LaBute that followed an unnamed man as he ventured across the country to meet up with his old girlfriends, apologizing for the ways in which he wronged them. We didn’t know much about this man—he’s getting married and he’s a writer—so the only tidbits we glean are from his interactions with these women. But are these women, some of whom are still burned from the experience, accurate in their impressions of him? Do they understand him any better than he understands himself?
Those questions are also at the heart of a new film adaptation that’s been scripted by LaBute (best known to movie audiences for In the Company of Men and Your Friends & Neighbors) but not directed by him. That job has gone to Daisy von Scherler Mayer, who’s worked mostly in television since directing the mid-1990s Parker Posey indie Party Girl. LaBute’s work (whether on the stage or on screen) has focused on the many ways in which men are horrible, thoughtless beasts. Some Girl(s) is no different, but for a while the film has a looser, less theatrical air about it than some of his other movies. There may not be a lot of depth to this character exercise, but it’s intellectually engaging as well as occasionally emotionally affecting.
Adam Brody plays the still-unnamed character, who lives in New York City with his fiancée (whom we never see). As the movie opens, he meets the first of his significant exes, Sam (Jennifer Morrison), in a hotel room in Seattle. So begins a pattern that will continue throughout the film: The young man explains to the former girlfriend that he’s getting married and wants to clear the air about any hurt he might have brought upon the woman during their relationship.
As its deceptively dismissive title suggests, Some Girl(s) means to be a reckoning for a man with clear commitment issues who hasn’t always considered the feelings of the women he’s dated. But especially in its early stretches, this comedy/drama doesn’t tip its hand about how we should judge this man. (Although, because he has no name, it’s natural to assume that LaBute and von Scherler Mayer mean for him to stand in for the most typical sort of guy, with all the negative connotations that come with it.) That reserved approach makes for an interesting experiment as we try to decipher the entirety of these relationships based on the brief interactions going on in front of us. For instance, was the sultry Tyler from Chicago (Mía Maestro) simply a sexual dynamo? Or was there a deeper connection between them—one that she felt but he rebuffed?