Jack & Diane (2012)

Riley Keough and Juno Temple in "Jack & Diane."

The dominant images of “Jack & Diane”—nosebleeds, facial cuts, vomiting, people sitting on toilets—all suggest unpleasant bodily fluids flowing. Although the movie was filmed in and around Brooklyn, N.Y., its favorite location seems to be the bathroom.

The film—a confused, queasy mix of horror and teen romance involving two young women and bizarre visions of werewolves—appears to be inspired in some part by the “Twilight” franchise. Furthermore, the strange idea of lesbianism hooking up with lycanthropy seems to be independent writer-director Bradley Rust Gray’s ill-advised way of making the material more edgy and mainstream.

Though they are about the same age, Diane (Juno Temple) plays the naïve, sexy nymphet to the short-haired, boyish and ostensibly more experienced Jack (Riley Keough). The couple’s initial encounters are oddly associated with pain (Diane gets a nosebleed and Jack gets hit by a car), a gimmick that seems meant to suggest vicissitudes in their relationship—ranging from clichéd to maddeningly incomprehensible—that lie ahead.

Out of the little that happens in this ponderous and overlong film, nothing is more fraught with unease than the couple’s attempts at love making, which are either interrupted by a snarling wolf man that looks borrowed from an 80s movie (like “The Howling” or “Silver Bullet”), or haunted by creepy cutaways that feature gooey body parts in grotesque close-ups. For what it’s worth, the latter is done using stop-motion animation supplied by the talented Quay Brothers, creators of the intriguing (and much better) short film, “Street of Crocodiles.”

“Jack & Diane” is a considerable step back for Rust Gray, who showed promise with his subtle and contemplative 2009 film, “The Exploding Girl.”