The film’s visual style is not in thrall to aestheticised despair, but best understood as an appreciation of the Lisbon girls themselves, a celebration of their lives, fairly unremarkable until they are not.

And yet a film set in suburban Michigan in 1975, about a quintet of teenage pre-Raphaelite enigmas who take their own lives, somehow remains dreamy and beguiling.

The Virgin Suicides offers a glimpse into the murky unknowability of adolescence, and its legacy is tied to the portraits of femininity with which Sofia Coppola has crafted her filmography.

Somewhere around The Virgin Suicides’ third mesmeric close-up of Kirsten Dunst’s teeth and eyelashes you realize these alluring compositions impart so little understanding of Lux Lisbon that we might as well be watching her from across the street.