A group of teens forms a club to romanticize firearms without the intent of using them. What could possibly go wrong? You can see the tragedy in the dusty air from frame one, so the ending is no surprise. The kids make themselves over as “Dandies,” wearing what are probably the most outrageous get-ups available in a midwestern mining community. Outfitted like fancy cowboys by way of Adam Ant, the self-determined outcasts set about mastering their hobby. Each finds their own special pistol, names it, and treats it tenderly like a lover. They discover a natural affinity to the science and instinct of target practice. As their gun obsession grows, their pact to keep their pieces sheathed in public becomes harder to maintain. Racial and romantic tensions upset the balance further when a new member comes into the fold. They’re at the age where the transition from playing make believe to dealing with the harsh real world is hard enough without adding live ammunition to the mix.

It’s impossible not to think of Dear Wendy as a junior version of A History of Violence. Danish Screenplay writer Lars von Trier has been taken to task by critics for a seemingly overt anti-American slant in his recent films. His fictional town as a microcosm of the country’s Big Problems is about as subtle as the Western showdown-style street of the story’s climax. But heavy-handedness and inevitable coda aside, Dear Wendy is an emotionally affecting and uniquely stylized twist on teenage growing pains.

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