Nominally an exercise in misanthropy and cynicism, Terry Zwigoff’s Ghost World nonetheless drips with an idealism, sincerity and humanity that has been missing from the last few dozen American teen comedies, and given the genre’s horrific recent tendency to spew up bland, vacuous MTV master-race representations of youth, this comes as not so much a respite, more a godsend.

The name of Holden Caulfield – the cheerfully anti-bullshit, anti-conformist teenager in JD Salinger’s adored Catcher In The Rye – has been evoked repeatedly in reviews of Ghost World, but it’s impossible to imagine a more accurate description of the template for the film’s heroine Enid. Played with almighty assurance and perceptiveness by American Beauty’s Thora Birch, Enid – together with her slightly less sharp-witted sidekick Rebecca (Johansson) – spends her days savagely taking the piss out of nine-to-fivers, straights, authority figures, and all comers in general. Their friendship begins to come under slight strain when Enid strikes up an acquaintance with Seymour (Buscemi), a nerdy fortysomething obsessive collector of jazz and blues 78’s: the pair appear to have nothing in common, but one listen to Skip James’ ‘Devil Got My Woman’ changes Enid’s life irreparably.

Our misfit heroines slowly develop in differing directions as adulthood looms, with Rebecca getting sucked into the workaday world while Enid remains resolutely her acerbic self. Meanwhile, her promising artistic career is sabotaged by insane PC-motivated censorship, her various attempts to join the workforce have gratifyingly unpredictable results, and she may or may not be forming a romantic attachment to a man at least twice her age.

This last aspect of the film has proved problematic for many, but Zwigoff’s clear-eyed and compassionate treatment of his subjects should neutralise any potential creepiness factor (as if American Beauty hadn’t already broken the shocking news that some middle-aged men like much younger women). Birch, shuffling around awkwardly in pale teen-goth make-up and thick black spectacles, is hardly playing up the temptress angle, while Buscemi’s performance is as sensitive as the role requires.

A surprisingly gentle howl of rage against faceless, soulless, materialistic modern living – but a howl of rage nonetheless – Ghost World is without doubt one of the most curiously sweet and genuine movies 2001 has had to offer, and not to be missed without an extremely good reason.