The voice and overall narrative of “All Grown Up” are practically indistinguishable from those of countless other books (and blogs, and television shows, and any other media featuring existentially dissatisfied white women), and Andrea’s supposed awareness of her and her story’s mediocrity lends only a stilted self-consciousness to the novel.
Filmmakers have the right, of course, to create what they see fit without taking notions of “political correctness” into account. Creating deeply harmful, socially irresponsible art is their prerogative. But even so, is a lazy smattering of colonialist tropes really art? How about 103 minutes of pandering to a white audience?