Candy Jar (2018)

directed by Ben Shelton

Zahra AlHadad

I don’t remember being a teenager in a fond light. Realistically, I know most people don’t—but there’s something about spending the majority of my childhood training as a state gymnast six times a week for 4-5 hours a day that stopped me from being able to do most of the things my peers could do. It felt alienating, watching and listening to my friends experience so many things I couldn’t. It wasn’t so much about having crushes either, yet I feel like loving teen-aligned romantic comedies and watching them religiously didn’t help much on that angle.

Now, with that being said, I’m fully aware that teen romcoms don’t really have the best rep when it comes to being “grounded.” They are unrealistic, often cheesy, and sometimes unwatchable due to the lack of care being put into them. However, they still represented bits of universal experiences that I could have never participated in, which stung a little.

So as I grew older, I reconciled that notion about romance and the films I watched. People were going to make movies about the most exciting parts of being a teenager and that’s okay! People weren’t going to be interested in making some boring movie about the kids who didn’t do the fun stuff…

And then came Candy Jar! Somehow, instead of fixating on the two first films of the Kissing Booth series and the (much better, in my opinion) To All The Boys trilogy, I stumbled upon and latched onto this comparatively smaller film instead. I don’t remember why, or how I ended up watching it, but that first watch felt personal to me.

Candy Jar focuses on two high-achieving brainiacs, Lona Skinner (Sami Gayle) and Bennett Russell (Jacob Latimore), who also happen to be academic rivals. They are arguing from the first scene, fighting for the spot of president in their two-member debate club (to which they end up co-presidents) and as Lona emphatically repeats at the beginning of the film, they “hate” each other.

They are both high-strung, high-achieving students, and are completely dedicated to getting into their dream colleges: Harvard for Lona, and Yale for Bennett. They’re so dedicated, in fact, that they aren’t seen doing much else throughout the film, nor do they have any other relationships with people outside their family and their guidance counsellor. I feel for them every time I watch it—being so involved in something that you’ve gone far beyond being a high school student even if you’re still in high school. How far removed you feel from your peers, watching them have experiences that feel so detached from your own day-to-day. Hell, both of them skipped homecoming to go watch foreign films, fully in their formal garb, because they didn’t feel like they belonged there.

Like them, I remember so clearly seeing my friends enjoy their weekends out, going to gatherings and being able to meet people outside of what school settings allowed. If I was invited, I never went—either by choice or because I was too busy—causing me to miss so much. As much as I tried to rationalize it, there was always a little tug of regret inside of me—of what I could have been doing, what I could have been experiencing. In such a volatile age, why was I made to think of such solid goals, why did I feel like I had to pass on things I was taught were supposed to be normal?

Candy Jar explores this in such a subtle way, all the while never fundamentally changing the characters. There’s no dramatic catalyst for a change. They don’t want to have some great adventure to end high school with a bang (a la Booksmart or Superbad) or have some weird convoluted deal that brings them together (a la 10 Things I Hate About You or Clueless). Instead, they just learn. Because beneath their big goals and high achievements, Lona and Bennett are still just teenagers.

That’s where the candy in Candy Jar comes in, and where my love for the writing shows. Candy, something associated with youth and naivety, is what ultimately brings them together. From the beginning, the only respite either of the main characters ever gets is within the walls of the school’s guidance counsellor room. There, they let go of all their stress, as they munch on the candy their counsellor provides. When she passes unexpectedly, they have that candy to connect to each other.

Through the use of proxemics, with every sweet treat they share—whether that be cookies or milkshakes—the film shows how much closer they get, physically and emotionally. In those moments, where their “childish” throughline cracks at the shells of their “older than teen” personas, they actually grow, becoming fully realized people. Lona and Bennett become “actual” teenagers, actual people, without having to throw away all that they’ve worked for. And that comforts me greatly, no matter how many times I’ve watched it.

And after all that, Candy Jar is still a romantic comedy! Lona and Bennett fulfil the enemies-to-lovers trope wonderfully, and they have cute interactions all through the runtime. Their romance is slow, but filled to the brim with heart, within a story that treats them with such care that they end up in each other’s dream universities! There are no crazy romantic gestures or admittance of feelings, but through the chemistry between the leads and a subtle story like this, there really is no need for it.

In the end, this film feels like such a gentle respite for me, a romcom that was fundamentally made for people like me; for the people who didn’t have a necessarily conventional experience, for the people who lived lives so beyond high school despite being in high school. Despite our detachment from the usual teen narratives, there is still a place where our stories lie, where we can see our weird little exploits explored—debate, rhythmic gymnastics, or otherwise.

Zahra AlHadad is a Malaysian writer who works in public relations. They hold an MA in Film Studies from UCL and have written for film publications like Little White Lies and the BFI. Often, they can either be found over-analyzing the films they watch or religiously listening to k-pop girl groups.