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The Virgin Suicides which has recently appeared and all but evaporated in theatres {save for several arthouse venues,}is indeed an exceptionally rare theatrical experience as well as a keen and true presentation of its literary source...a book which compells in its vagueness all the passions that youth holds, all the desperate yearnings for that which is suspended or unattainable.

The story centers on a group of boys who are compelled and utterly obsessed with a group of sisters(the Lisbon Girls) who have become almost mythic in their beauty and vagueness and in their very unnatainable illusiveness and sadness and ultimitely their very tragedyand demise. These girls have attained this status as they rarely leave their house and speak even less. The parents of these girls are quite dry and barely human. They seem to be weighted in some sort of heavy opression that is never brought to light. They are strict, but mild. Unnervingly "normal" Kathleen Turner and James Woods give subtle and brilliant performances as they loom about seeming utterly defenseless and defeated.

Kathleen Turner actually goes dowdy under the mantle of the housefraus who is frightened of her own shadow and is swamped in religeos zeal. James Woods is equally
amazing as the father who can't quite grasp the mystique of femininity yet carries on fraily as the ever suffering silent laconic male who carries on his job with maniacal precision as a science teacher and keeps in check potential beous and avid suitors. He remains stoic and silently passive as his family crumbles.
The film is as the book was one of impressions and feelings. The Lisbon family is viewed in the context of observation and macrocosm. There is a strong undercurrent of sexuality and its repression and or stilted expressions . Cecilia is the youngest sister who attempts to annihalate herself at the break of the film. WE never know why. The boys never know why. They know what we know...she looked sad she wore a 20s wedding dress...she was quiet and bookish and evoked a mad ophelia type beauty that grips ones heart.

We see as the boys see, as the neighborhood sees....
fragments, relics....pieces of a sad epoch unfolding. 70's suburbia is brought to fecund life and the cinamatography is exceptional.

The girls are cloistered in their homes and mired in a humid stagnance that they sadly and frantically attempt to break by making contact with the boys in the neighborhood.
Heartrending futile attempts at normalcy...

We don't know what their sadness is , but they wear it....they evoke it.
They signal the neighborhood boys via sos flashlight signals, and random holycards(incedently they are all named for catholic saints)....

Lux, the second to oldest actually nearly acheives freedom with a budding romance that is approbated but kept in check by the ever looming sentinals that are the parents.
She ends up taking strangers on the roof and crafts her own demise by acting out sexually and sadly is left barren and unrequited.

We are left with a wonderment and strange nostalgia....for a time that existed only in our hearts...a place that was youth..., a scent that was want. WE become those boys who strive to save their dark angels and end up hopessly collecing the fragments of their past and stilted dreams.
The lisbon girls are dead, and we are left haunted.