Beetlejuice aside, mainstream movies rarely treat goths as sympathetic human beings; more often, they're tucked into the margins, relegated to roles as lurking creeps. Though actual goths might only partially recognize themselves in the pierced, black-clad teen played by star Leelee Sobieski, at least My First Mister marks a step in the right direction. Unfortunately, for the one thing it does right, actress/director Christine Lahti's feature debut does at least five wrong. Narrating in pinched tones, and occasionally in painful poetry—"I like chocolate; it's dark and warm like I imagine a hug would be like," goes a typical line—Sobieski plays a graduating high-school senior who feels like an outcast at home (with chirpy mother Carol Kane and distant stepdad Michael McKean), at school, and even at the clothing store and coffee shop where similarly attired acquaintances gather. Her most satisfying relationships involve a cat named Black and a dead grandmother. In search of employment, she finds herself strangely attracted to the pudgy, bespectacled manager of a men's-clothing store (Albert Brooks). Striking up a friendship after blustering her way into a job, Sobieski tries to prompt Brooks into loosening up as he teaches her to believe in herself. Whether their affection is familial or sexual remains a matter of constant renegotiations. It's not hard to imagine a decent film shaped from that premise, particularly with Mister's cast. Brooks (in a nice, quietly uncharacteristic performance) and Sobieski give their all, but the film continually lets them down. Though well-acted, their characters remain fatally ill-defined, and Lahti, working from what feels like a first-draft script by Jill Franklyn, can't decide whether she's directing a broad culture-clash comedy, a heartfelt drama, or a TV movie called Why Jennifer Only Wears Black. When Franklyn does finally choose a direction, it only makes matters worse. Forgettable in the best of times, Mister's chronological proximity to Ghost World—a much better film that also features an ambiguous relationship between a misfit young woman and a middle-aged loner—makes it redundant, as well.