Showing posts with label Spring Breakers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Spring Breakers. Show all posts

Friday, June 21, 2013

THE BLING RING: As Superficial And Empty-headed As The Girls It Depicts

Now playing in the Triangle at the Raleigh Grande, Crossroads 20 in Cary, and AMC Southpoint 17:

THE BLING RING (Dir Sofia Coppola, 2013)



With its superficial teenage girls on a crime spree premise, Sofia Coppola’s fifth film, THE BLING RING, should be paired with Harmony Korine’s SPRING BREAKERS, from earlier this year, for a double feature.

Based on the true story of a group of fame-obsessed teens who broke into the Los Angeles houses of celebrities such as Paris Hilton (who has a brief cameo), Lindsay Lohan, Audrina Patridge, and Orlando Bloom, and stole millions of dollars worth of clothing, jewellery, cash, and personal items, Coppola’s film matches Korine’s with its high levels of glitz, and may also leave audiences with the same “what the Hell does this all mean?” bafflement.

Utilizing the internet (mostly sites like TMZ), and a shy male classmate (Israel Broussard), the girls led by newcomer Katie Chang, figure out when their targets are out of town, or attending an awards show or whatever, so they can infiltrate their domains, raid belongings, and imitate the lifestyles of the rich and famous, without having to do any of the actual work their idols did to get there.

Of course, in the case of Paris Hilton, who was born into extreme privilege, you can see how they justify their wrong doings, and why they return to her house over and over. Chang: “We’ve never taken enough to notice, I mean, it’s Paris Hilton!”

Chang and Broussard are joined by Emma Watson, Claire Julien, and Taissa Farmiga (American Horror Story), in both their thieving conquests and their after heist partying, two aspects of the film that get really repetitive. At least Coppola lays off the quick-cut fever dreaminess of Korine’s SPRING BREAKERS in these scenes, allowing cinematographers Christopher Blauvelt and Harris Savides cameras to linger on shots and luxuriate in the surroundings a bit more.

In one of the films standout visuals, actress/model Audrina Patridge’s two level modern glass-box of a house is seen in an unbroken night-time long shot as Chang and Broussard enter and ransack her goods (it helps that so many of these stars usually leave a sliding glass down unlocked. As the camera slowly moves in, the shot absorbs more and more until the house fills the entire frame. If only the rest of the film could be as engrossing.

It’s hard to tell if Coppola, who wrote the screenplay based on the Vanity Fair article “The Suspect Wore Louboutins” (this is the second time this week I’m linking to a Vanity Fair article), is condemning these girls, living vicariously through them, or satirizing them. A strong case could be made for the latter when considering the character of Watson’s ditzy home schooling mother (Leslie Mann), or some of the outrageously empty headed dialogue spouted by these careless criminals.

There’s also an unsettling surrealism when taking in that the scenes set in Hilton’s house were actually filmed in Hilton’s house, in all its gaudy glory (Hilton’s face is on pillows, posters, and framed magazine covers everywhere you look), because she had to approve the recreation of something that she said made her feel incredibly violated, but somehow it’s okay since she’s friends with Coppola and it’s now art, or something.

THE BLING RING is ultimately as superficial and empty headed as the people it depicts. It has nothing to say about them except to ask ‘isn’t it crazy what they did?’ There’s no statement about disgusting excess or the silliness of stardom (Seth Rogen and Evan Goldberg's THIS IS THE END actually tackles those themes much more thoroughly), there’s just these girls going from one heist in the Hollywood Hills to another until they get caught. They say stupid stuff while they’re committing crimes; they say stupid stuff when they get arrested.

Sure, it’s crazy that this really happened, but it’s not that surprising, and it’s not worth this 90 minute examination.

More later...

Friday, March 22, 2013

The Soulless Eye Candy Of Harmony Korine’s SPRING BREAKERS


Opening today in the Triangle area:


SPRING BREAKERS 
(Dir. Harmony Korine, 2012)


If you thought James Franco as Oscar Diggs was too family friendly in OZ THE GREAT AND POWERFUL (currently the #1 movie in the land), then what about Franco as Alien, a rapper/drug dealer/pimp with cornrows, shining steel teeth, and rich trash beachwear?

That’s how he appears in Harmony Korine’s SPRING BREAKERS, the arthouse film that doesn’t look like one, which you might’ve heard something about as it had a record-breaking limited screen debut last weekend (on only two screens, mind you) and has been getting a of buzz.

The hard R-rated film, from the writer/director of GUMMO and TRASH HUMPERS, concerns four college girls (Vanessa Hudgens, Selena Gomez, Ashley Benson, and Rachel Korine, all bikini-clad for almost the entire film) who rob a restaurant (“we held up the Chicken Shack with squirt guns!”) to get funds so they can go on spring break in St. Pete Beach, Florida. But that’s just the setup, because their world goes completely out of whack when Franco takes them under his wing, after he bails them out when they are arrested on drug charges at a frat boy party.

From the get go, Korine’s film, shot in fleeting beauty by cinematographer BenoĆ®t Debie, is all kinetic energy, with no shot lasting more than a matter of seconds; a flashy editing job by Douglas Crise (TRAFFIC, the OCEAN’S ELEVEN movies) that often makes the movie look like one big rave. In one of many partying montages, a grainy swirling effect has the imagery merge together as if Korine wants you to feel as fucked up as his characters.

It’s a dizzying display of debauchery, but that makes it sound like a lot more fun than it is.

Ominous overtones provided by Skrillex and Cliff Martinez’s soundtrack, and the prospect of Gomez’s religious guilt coming to the surface (her character is actually named Faith), indicate heavily that there’s something sinister underneath all of this, but since this is supposed to be Korine’s ode to the hedonistic pleasures he felt like he missed when growing up, I only took away from it that there's some crazy danger out in the sun-drenched sleaze so beware, kids! Any sense of sharp satire or sobering statement of any kind was lost on me.

After shedding some tears and expressing that she’s not on board following the Franco path, Gomez gets on a bus and leaves the movie. This is unfortunate because she was the only girl who made much of an impression – I can’t remember what the other’s names were). Rachel Korine (wife of the director) also leaves after getting shot in the arm by one of Franco’s competitor’s (the suavely menacing Gucci Mane) thugs.

Hudgens and Benson stay on to join Franco in his life of crime, ripping off other spring breakers, and planning a ambush a la SCARFACE (which Franco boasts his crib’s entertainment system plays nonstop) of his rival’s seaside fortress in revenge for their wounded friend.

Franco convincingly inhabits the persona of Alien, particularly when he’s spouting out his philosophies as if he’s being interviewed on MTV or tenderly singing a Britney Spears ballad (“Everytime”) on his lavish white poolside piano, but the movie’s cut-up confines keep his performance from being truly electrifying (it does comes close though in a shot of him giving fellatio to two gun barrels at once).

Korine’s work here isn’t a matter of style over substance, it’s more a matter of style of substance abuse that gets pounded into our heads with every techno beat, instance of in-your-face sexuality, and moment of stupid behavior we witness.

The repetition throughout of Gomez’s voice-over recitation of a letter to her Grandmother about the trip before things get crazy dangerous (“It's the most spiritual place on earth,” “I want to come back here next year with you!”), doesn’t seem to have a discernible point either, unless it’s just to stress naivety on her part.

The soulless eye-candy (hey, I think one of the girl’s names is Candy!) of SPRING BREAKERS skirts the surface of what a terrifying provocative film about thrill-seeking teenagers going too far could really be. But it seems content though with its day-glo, neon-lit, tawdry surface, so movie-goers prone to empty-headed partying may be content with it too. You know, the kids who’d smuggle a beer bong into the theater if they could. Those are the ones who’ll really love it.

More later...