Twenty-One mirrors the character of its cheeky protagonist: bored, cynical and operating chiefly for self-amusement. Director/co-writer Don Boyd [who also wrote the screen story] depicts the uncensored experience of a worldly young Brit (Patsy Kensit) who ankles her life in London for a fresh start in New York.
Boyd employs a direct-to-camera technique in which the frank, salty-tongued heroine talks while having her facial, tending to nature’s call and so on. If only she were more compelling. This rather vapid lass hasn’t much on her mind, and her intimate revelations are forgettable.
Kensit tells the audience she was doing all right in London, bouncing from job to job and having an affair with a married man (Patrick Ryecart) until she fell for a lovely Scot (Rufus Sewell). He proved to be a junkie.
Camera also operates in pic’s spirit (with flash and style, and no real purpose). Fans of Kensit get plenty of her; her lovely face and form are always the center of attention. The cool control with which she executes the role is admirable.