Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret.

It took half a century for Judy Blume to hand over the keys to her most sacred kingdom, and frankly, I’m glad she waited for Kelly Fremon Craig. There is a specific kind of magic that happens when a director treats the problems of a twelve-year-old with the same gravity as a Scorsese epic, and Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret. (2023) is exactly that. I watched this in a nearly empty theater next to a teenager who was busy live-tweeting their own existential crisis, and it felt like 4D cinema—the bridge between the 1970s setting and our current doom-scrolling reality was shorter than I ever imagined.

The Audacity of Honesty

In our current era of "representation," we often talk about diversity of skin tone or background, but we rarely talk about the representation of awkwardness. Abby Ryder Fortson (who you might remember as the precocious daughter in Ant-Man) delivers a performance so grounded and devoid of "child actor" artifice that it’s almost startling. As Margaret Simon, she isn't a polished influencer-in-waiting; she’s a kid who is genuinely confused by her own changing body and the sudden weight of her family’s religious baggage.

What Kelly Fremon Craig (who previously gave us the equally sharp The Edge of Seventeen) does so well is capture the tactile nature of being eleven. The way a training bra feels like a suit of armor, or the sheer, soul-crushing intensity of a secret club meeting. In a cinematic landscape currently dominated by "Multiverses of Madness," there is something radical about a film where the highest stakes involve a girl hoping her period arrives before the school dance. Marketing this as just a ‘kids’ movie’ was a cinematic hate crime, because it’s actually one of the most sophisticated adult dramas of the last few years, disguised in a Peter Pan collar.

The Secret Weapon in the Kitchen

While Abby Ryder Fortson is the heart, Rachel McAdams is the soul. Playing Margaret’s mother, Barbara, McAdams reminds us why she’s one of the best of her generation. In this post-pandemic cinema landscape, we’ve seen a lot of films about "the domestic struggle," but McAdams plays the move from NYC to New Jersey with a heartbreaking nuance. She’s trying to be the perfect PTA mom while mourning the artist she used to be, and her scenes of quiet frustration are just as compelling as Margaret’s coming-of-age.

Then you have Kathy Bates as the grandmother, Sylvia. She’s the comedic relief, sure, but she also represents the tribalism that fuels the film’s central conflict: religion. The Simon family is half-Jewish, half-Christian, and entirely undecided. Margaret’s "chats" with God aren't theological debates; they’re the desperate reaching of a kid trying to find a landing pad in a world that suddenly demands she pick a side. It’s a brave move for a modern film to tackle religious identity without becoming a "faith-based" movie or a cynical satire. Instead, it treats Margaret’s spiritual search with a sweetness that felt, to me, like a warm hug in a very cold room.

The Box Office Ghost

It’s a tragedy of the streaming age that this film didn't set the box office on fire. With a $30 million budget and a $21 million return, it officially qualifies as a "theatrical disappointment," which is baffling considering it has a 99% on Rotten Tomatoes. We live in a time where mid-budget dramas are being swallowed whole by the theatrical-to-streaming pipeline. Because it wasn't a "legacy sequel" or a superhero flick, audiences seemingly waited for the "home release," missing out on the communal experience of hearing an entire theater gasp during the "we must, we must, we must increase our bust" chant.

One of the coolest details I found out later is that the legendary Hans Zimmer—the man responsible for the booming, brassy scores of Inception and Dune—did the music here. You’d think he’d be out of place, but his score is delicate and whimsical, proving that even the master of "BWAAAH" sounds knows how to play it quiet when a girl is talking to the ceiling. It’s these kinds of creative swings that make the film feel like a premium piece of art rather than a disposable teen flick.

Stuff You Didn't Notice

The production design by Steve Saklad is a masterclass in 1970s suburban realism. It doesn't look like a "70s themed party"; it looks lived-in. Apparently, Kelly Fremon Craig was so committed to authenticity that she spent years writing letters to Judy Blume to convince her that she wouldn't "Hollywood-ize" the story. Blume, who had turned down decades of offers, finally relented because she felt Craig understood that most parents are just taller children pretending to have the answers.

There’s also a subtle brilliance in the casting of Benny Safdie (half of the Safdie Brothers directing duo) as the dad. Usually, he’s making frantic, stressful indies like Uncut Gems, but here he’s just a sweet, slightly overwhelmed suburban dad struggling with a lawnmower. It’s a bit of meta-casting that adds a layer of "modern cool" to a story that could have easily felt dated.

This is the kind of movie that reminds me why I love cinema. It’s small but massive, specific but universal. It’s a film that respects its audience, regardless of whether they’re eleven or seventy-five. If you missed it during its brief theatrical run because you were too busy watching a blue screen explosion, do yourself a favor and find it on digital. It’s a future classic that just happens to be waiting for the rest of the world to catch up to it.

The ending doesn't give you a neat little bow, and it doesn't solve the mysteries of the universe. It just lets Margaret be Margaret, which is more than enough. I left the theater feeling a little more human, and honestly, in 2023, that’s worth more than the price of a ticket and a bucket of buttery popcorn.