Twelve

It's a powerful film, but it's peopled with so many characters that it's hard to keep track of all their issues and personal dramas, let alone care. TWELVE certainly has the right look for its subject mater -- and that's not a reference to the conspicuously consumed and chicer-than-chic outfits that its private school types are wearing (though it does get those right, too). Cinematography-wise, the film admirably melds grittiness and slickness with its blown-out white, inky black, and dark-jewel-toned images. Plot-wise, there's plenty to draw viewers in, too; grief -- Mike's over his mother's death, and most of the kids' over their parents' deep neglect -- suffuses everything.

But, oh, the heavy-handedness! It all begins with woeful voiceover narration delivered in (naturally) a gravelly voice -- courtesy of Kiefer Sutherland -- that tells viewers everything we need to know. So why should we bother to watch? The lines themselves are well-written, but they sound self conscious, essentially announcing, "This is edgy stuff." (The Nick McDonell novel on which it's based fares much better.) Crawford's White Mike is a darker role than his Nate in Gossip Girl, but given the movie's setting, it doesn't feel like he's stretching too much. Ultimately, Twelve feels like Gossip Girl Gone Wild.