In the small town of Big River, a high school band girl named Carolyn Harper (Raven Whitley) makes out with football star Andy Kitzmiller (Ty Olwin). When she refuses to go all of the way, he abandons her by the lake outside of town, taking her glasses with him as he drives angrily away. Shortly thereafter Carolyn falls, hits her head and disappears.

This is how Knives and Skin, the new feature from prolific short director Jennifer Reeder, opens. With both thematic and visual connections to Twin Peaks, it’s hard not to get a David Lynch vibe from the small town-with-secrets narrative. But outside of the surface similarities, Reeder’s film has significantly different preoccupations.

Knives and Skin principally follows the three girls who were in a rock band with Carolyn: cheerleader Laurel (Kayla Carter), fashionista Charlotte (Ireon Roach) and cash-strapped Joanna (Grace Smith), Andy’s sister. In a more conventional film, the three would be preoccupied with discovering clues to find their missing friend; in Reeder’s film (she also wrote the screenplay), however, Carolyn’s absence is barely a passing concern to anyone other than her choir teacher mother, Lisa (Marika Engelhardt).

The reality is that even as Carolyn lies in the woods throughout the film, life in Big River continues. Reeder is more interested in using the girl’s absence as an entry point into the lives of the girls and, by extension, their families, all of whom have their own secrets and vices. Laurel’s pregnant mother Renee (Kate Arrington) is a seemingly happy housewife, but the reality is that she’s having an affair with Joanna’s unemployed father Dan (Tim Hopper). Meanwhile, Joanna’s mother Lynn (Audrey Francis) is suffering from mental health problems that prevent her from working, forcing an enterprising Joanna to sell worn underwear and her mother’s prescription drugs.

In this way Carolyn’s absence isn’t so much unnoticed as it is not top of mind; each character is so busy working through their own issues that they have no time or energy to consider the lives of others. The exception is, of course, Lisa, who slowly deteriorates to the point that she begins wearing her daughter’s clothes, loses track of time and bakes her absent daughter a cake that melts all over the table. It’s the most ostentatious performance in the ensemble and Engelhardt is quite impressive.

The most notable element of Knives and Skin is not its narrative or its performances, however; it is its style. There is a dream-like quality to the film, with frequent slow-motion, atmospheric sequences infused with neon lighting. Reeder tends to eschew realism in favour of big, expressive sequences such as the all-girl choir practice filmed in slow motion pans that features the girls whispering to each other in hot pink subtitles. Or the melancholy performance of Naked Eyes’ “Promises, Promises” sung by the cast, including Carolyn’s corpse (Music plays a significant role in the film, with the cast covering other notable 80s singles by New Order, Modern English, Cyndi Lauper and The Go-Gos).

When the style, dialogue and quirkiness all connect, there’s an excitement to Knives and Skin. The film’s inclusion of women, queer and POC characters in lead roles without stooping to moral messages is also notable and worthy of celebration.

Unfortunately – and it is a big but – a great deal of the film’s positive elements are undone by the inclination to favour style at the expense of everything else, especially narrative. Knives and Skin includes multiple plot lines that are introduced and then unceremoniously dropped, most notably the horror-inspired opening sequence where Lisa is seen advancing on Carolyn’s room with a knife.

Too often there’s also a desperate desire to be edgy and hip, which is most evident in the dialogue and dark humour. There’s a strong evocation of Heathers in the bitchy way that the teen characters speak to each other, such as when Ivonne questions Laurel’s sex life by asking her: “If you’re not a cunty slut or a bitchy tease, then what are you?”

Some of this dark humour works, such as Renee’s refusal to remake Missing posters that contain a spelling mistake because she spent a lot of time on them. More often than not, however, it does not (see: Dan’s propensity to have sex with Renee while wearing clown make-up; the ridiculously nonsensical phrases the search party should use if they discover Carolyn’s body). The over/under with which the dialogue and comedy lands makes the film feel uneven and often undermines the characters likability to the point that nearly everyone becomes insufferable.

Audacious in its experimental nature, when Knives and Skin works, it’s wildly entertaining. Unfortunately the highs are too few and far between, and the film’s emphasis on style over narrative and character makes for a viewing experience that drags. Reeker’s ambition makes her one to watch; hopefully her next project will deliver the same stylistic energy with a more even narrative execution.