In ‘Luckiest Girl Alive,’ Mila Kunis Brilliantly Navigates a Survivor’s Trauma

Jessica Knoll’s 2015 novel Luckiest Girl Alive captured lightning in a bottle. That’s cliché doled out ad nauseam, but there is simply no other way to describe its unique presence. Not only was it Knoll’s debut novel, but it also hit hundreds of thousands of readers like a ton of bricks. Two years prior to the viral #MeToo Movement, Luckiest Girl Alive offered a painfully candid portrayal of a woman grappling with the lingering trauma from a teenage sexual assault and the disturbing events in its aftermath—and a healthy dose of catharsis for its readers.

Knoll’s novel arrived at a precarious, important time. Its unflinching depiction of sexual assault—and the years of deeply ingrained, unpredictable distress that can follow it—struck readers who, at the time, had far fewer accessible outlets for similar grief. Even now, seven years after the release of Knoll’s novel and five years after the first Harvey Weinstein allegations sparked millions to share their own #MeToo stories, accounts like this still feel rare.

A year after publishing Luckiest Girl Alive, Knoll disclosed in a Lenny Letter essay that the book was inspired by an assault she’d experienced as a teenager. Knoll also affirmed that, despite a host of differences between herself and the novel’s main character, Ani FaNelli, they shared much of the same post-traumatic stress. Perhaps that’s why Knoll was able to craft a novel that had as much bite as it did genuine emotion, receiving praise from peers like Gone Girl’s Gillian Flynn and The Girl on the Train’s Paula Hawkins.

The Fastest-Selling Adult Novel in History: Paula Hawkins’ ‘The Girl On The Train’

Flynn and Hawkins have both seen their novels adapted as feature films, but only one of them was remotely decent—and it wasn’t the one where Emily Blunt drank vodka out of a Nalgene. Whether or not Knoll’s powerful voice could properly translate to Netflix’s film adaptation of Luckiest Girl Alive, out Friday, was a question the book’s fans have been eagerly awaiting the answer to. Lucky for them, with Knoll penning the screenplay and a sharp Mila Kunis forging her way as Ani, Luckiest Girl Alive is a solid screen adaptation that still feels woefully relevant.

With her respectable job at The Women’s Bible—a very on-the-nose take on Cosmopolitan—and sculpted, old-money fiancé Luke (Finn Wittrock), Ani has made a name for herself in the cutthroat world of New York strivers. But it hasn’t been without rigorous planning. She pays thousands of dollars a year for workout classes, endears herself to her editor to climb the ranks, and sneaks carbs when Luke isn’t looking to maintain his perfect idea of her.

But despite micromanaging her own life down to the smallest of details, Ani remains haunted by the assault she endured while attending a private high school on a writing scholarship as a teenager. It’s her greatest secret, the one that she tries to bury with her incessant need for control. But every time someone asks her about a school shooting that closely followed her attack, the memory resurfaces. Ani was never directly implicated in the massacre, but old classmates have stuck to their claims that she was involved—especially Dean Barton (Alex Barone), who has spent years lobbying for gun reform after his spine was severed in the shooting.

Ani’s past, present, and future collide when—weeks before her wedding and days out from a dream job offer—she’s approached by a documentary filmmaker to finally tell her side of the story. Thrust into a tailspin of trauma and unearthed memories, Ani has to decide whether it’s worth it to face her accusers or move forward with the picture-perfect sham of a life she’s built to protect herself.

Though Netflix is marketing Luckiest Girl Alive as a mystery, it’s really a straightforward survivor’s epic. The film is padded by voiceover narration from Kunis that, surprisingly, works well in the context of the character. Instead of being used solely for the purposes of easy exposition or a few snarky laughs (which would feel cheap and useless in a film like this), Ani’s narration rings through each scene like the relentless voice in her head. When Ani is triggered, Kunis’ voice jolts between panic, sarcasm, fear, and confidence. She possesses a deft understanding of the multiple layers of feeling Ani would be mentally traversing by the second, all to micro-process her trauma without showing any weakness.

Ani’s also struggling with her personal distinction between victim and survivor. She might detest hearing the word “rape,” but she bristles even more at the thought of being called a “survivor.” For her, there was no visible fight to survive; it was just something she intrinsically did, telling barely anyone what happened. When asked by the documentary crew if she would prefer they use the term victim, she coldly jabs a straw into her drink. “Yep, victim!”

The delineation between these terms is something that often goes unexplored in stories about assault, with most falling back on “survivor,” because it sounds more hopeful. Ani sees herself somewhere in the blurry, gray area in between. Is she a victim if she didn’t die? Can she be a survivor if her entire existence is ruled by trying to escape her past?

The film acutely observes these kinds of nuances, which come as part of a package deal with intense traumatic stress. Despite thinking that she’s got a handle on her life, Ani’s trauma continues to manifest itself in unexpected ways. After a run-in with an old teacher (Scoot McNairy), Ani loses herself in memory, only to come-to kicking the shit out of a cab driver’s screen console. And when Luke wants to slow down their usually rough sex for something more tender, Ani recoils and shuts it down altogether. These kinds of tricky yet very real expressions of trauma are too often abandoned for the same old, rote depictions of survivors.

Mila Kunis Calls Out Sexist Hollywood Producer in Open Letter

Unfortunately, a two-hour film just isn’t enough to give these complicated, everyday representations of trauma’s nefarious incarnations the time they deserve. What worked so well in Knoll’s book gets glossed over here, only scratching the surface of how and why Ani’s triggers manifest themselves in strange ways.

Luckiest Girl Alive is the very rare film that would actually work better as a limited series, given enough time and a loose, episodic structure to examine the realities of Ani’s PTSD. These are real experiences that thousands of people go through, and I often wished that they could be allotted more time in the film than, say, Ani fighting with her mother (a wiry Connie Britton) about her wedding dress. If we can have five nights of Candy, we can have three weeks of Luckiest Girl Alive!

Even if the film may have inevitably condensed its source material, Mila Kunis burns through every frame with an aching ferociousness. Her Ani is a wonder, as fiery and cunning as she is quietly suffering. Kunis gives Ani a jolting spark of undeniable humanity; she moves and operates exactly as this character should, switching between each of Ani’s complex emotions seamlessly. I don’t think there is any other actress who could so perfectly blend the humor and rage that exist equally within this character at all times.

Despite Kunis’ applause-worthy, moving concluding lines, Luckiest Girl Alive ends on a regrettably tepid note. Knoll and director Mike Barker struggle with the right way to conflate the importance of Ani’s story with the impact of Knoll’s novel. The resulting scenes feel spoon-fed and expected, somewhere between The Assistant and Promising Young Woman.

But even with all of its predictability, the film is still a novel portrayal of the intricacies of trauma. Luckiest Girl Alive is a rare and insightful exploration of the place between victim and survivor, and the facade that we build to hide from not only the world, but ourselves.

Read more at The Daily Beast.

Get the Daily Beast's biggest scoops and scandals delivered right to your inbox. Sign up now.

Stay informed and gain unlimited access to the Daily Beast's unmatched reporting. Subscribe now.