Nancy Drew

Late in Nancy Drew, the eponymous brainiac sleuth inadvertently launches a fashion trend: “the new sincerity.” It’s a label that applies not only to Nancy’s wardrobe, but to the film itself. Despite a few flirtations with Clueless-style satire, the movie—like the books on which it’s based—is basically a straight-up, 12-and-under mystery, with all the clues plainly apparent and all the villains eager to growl their motives in Nancy’s direction. You get what you pay for, in other words.

Transplanting Nancy from her hometown (in an unknown state) to Los Angeles turns out to be mainly a way of setting the story in Hollywood, which enables Fleming—of the overrated Nixon comedy Dick (1999)—to craft a sort of Sunset Blvd. for kids. Nancy (an überchirpy Roberts) and her father (Donovan) move into what might be Norma Desmond’s decaying mansion, inspiring the girl wonder—who’s trying, really trying, to behave like a normal teenager—to investigate the mysterious death of its former occupant, movie star Dehlia Draycott (Harring).

Fleming has fun establishing atmosphere, setting key scenes in a cluttered hall of records and on the rafters of a decaying theater. Solving the mystery wouldn’t be beyond your average remedial student, let alone a girl who drives a car (legally?), carries a bungee cord in her purse and who, having stumbled onto a film shoot, proves a surprisingly capable auteur. Bet you the Hardy Boys never did that. (Opens Fri; Click here for showtimes.)—Ben Kenigsberg