There is a scene in Priscilla that made me groan, not in disgust but with bone-deep recognition. 14-year-old Priscilla Beaulieu sits with Elvis on a sofa at his home in West Germany. They have just met. She has a child’s face, round cheeks and puffy soft bangs, and she looks mystified by how she got here.
Elvis is twenty-four. He asks her what year of school she’s in, already aware that she is too young for him.
“Ninth,” she says. He doesn’t understand at first, and she explains, “ninth grade.”
Elvis makes a sound, this guilty grimace of uh oh and but I still-
He pursues her anyway.
I squirmed through most of Priscilla. I have few criticisms — the ending felt sudden, Priscilla’s decision to leave needed more exploration — and so my squirming was a personal problem. I’ve never dated a celebrity, but I’ve felt the dazzling force of an older man’s attention. It is hypnotic and overwhelming, and you are convinced that if you make one small mistake, you will lose it forever. There is no imaginable loss greater than losing his attention.
The younger you are, the less you understand what he sees in you. You are not really mature for your age, and that’s why he wants you. Your immaturity makes you pliant.
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Ella Dawson 