Moxie (2021)

Amy Poehler's Moxie arrives as a Netflix coming-of-age comedy-drama about a shy teenager who starts an anonymous feminist zine after discovering her mother's rebellious past. The film treats high school sexism as a pervasive weather system, complete with a ranking list that humiliates girls, a principal who prefers quiet, and a football culture that rewards the wrong people. The central grievance is real enough, and the film's anger at rape culture and institutional indifference gives it a pulse. But the execution is so tidy, so eager to be approved by its audience, that every confrontation feels like a scheduled lesson with a worksheet waiting at the end.

The cast is conspicuously diverse, with women of color and a trans actress in the ensemble, yet the story remains anchored to a white protagonist whose awakening organizes everyone else's pain. A character dismisses The Great Gatsby as another rich white man's sorrow, and that line lands like a stray elbow. The film wants credit for inclusion while keeping the microphone in familiar hands. Its feminism is loud and unmistakable, built from zine manifestos, walkout speeches, and a final act that gathers every thread into a group hug of empowerment. There is no meaningful queer storyline, no environmental concern, no economic critique beyond bad institutions, and no interest in body positivity despite the objectifying list that sets events in motion.

The result is a sermon with good production values. The film lectures because it believes the lecture is necessary, and perhaps it is. Still, the drama rarely breathes. Characters confess, reconcile, and learn on cue. Mitchell receives his comeuppance, the principal sees the light, and Moxie grows its following. It is a fantasy of teenage activism that flatters its viewers while sanding down the messier parts of adolescence. As a cultural artifact, it is earnest, well meaning, and almost aggressively of its moment. As cinema, it is a polite protest sign printed on glossy paper.