Executive producers, Fernando Sulichin, Ted Field, Chris Contogouris, Jane Holzer, Agnes B, Aeysha Walsh, Vikram Chatwal, Stella Schnabel, Megan Ellison, Vince Jolivette, Miles Levy, Wicks Walker. Produced by Chris Hanley, Jordan Gertner, David Zander, Charles-Marie Anthonioz. The film could use more such eerie tonal discord.Īn Annapurna Pictures presentation of a Muse Prod., Hero Entertainment production, in association with Rabbit Bandini Prod., Radar Pictures, MJZ, O'Salvation, Iconoclast. The most striking soundtrack cut, however, is Nicki Minaj’s hip-hop anthem “Moment 4 Lyfe,” heard through a car radio over Debie’s bravura tracking shot of an armed robbery in progress. The juddering electro score, a collaboration between Cliff Martinez (“Drive”) and chart-topping dubstep wizard Skrillex, couldn’t be more on the money. Debie (“ Enter the Void”) is given the run of the toy store, lighting the film in exquisitely lurid pools of clashing color that lend even a university lecture hall the ambience of a nightclub at witching hour. Casting the wholesome Gomez as Faith, with tabloid-sullied “High School Musical” alum Hudgens as the more rebellious Candy, is a reasonably clever wink, though the stunt hasn’t much of a shelf life, and both actresses deserve more to play with.īy contrast, virtuoso French d.p. Though the film is heavy on breasts and bullets, its violence and sexual content are unlikely to threaten R-rated boundaries, while an early girl-on-girl kiss is tamer than any sung about by Katy Perry. This is one of several areas in which “Breakers,” the most eccentric stretches of which recall the recent lo-fi work of Zach Clark (“Vacation!”), could have been more bravely subversive than it is.
This alliance may afford the film’s most delicious scene, in which Alien and the gun-toting trio gather for a piano-led singalong to mawkish Spears ballad “Everytime,” but it’s a disappointingly patriarchal turn of events for a film that initially promises a reckless girl-power spree along the lines of “Set It Off” or, more extremely, “Baise-moi.”
The other three girls, in the film’s increasingly dreamy logic, are somehow turned on by his “BALLR” license plate and bewildering collection of firearms, and duly join his posse. Repelled by Alien’s sleazy criminality, Faith jumps aboard the next bus home. Once in Florida, the quartet’s shenanigans land them in prison for drug abuse, until they are bailed out by Franco’s mysterious benefactor, Alien (“Truth be told, I ain’t from this planet”).
None of them has enough cash for the trip to the Sunshine State, prompting Candy, Brit and Cotty to stage an armed robbery at a Chicken Shack, fixing the girls’ moral dynamic and setting the tone for what’s to come. Raven-haired Gomez is afforded the most distinct perspective (and coiffure) as the none-too-subtly named Faith, a churchgoing good girl who likes to let her hair down at spring break with her three interchangeably fair-headed friends Candy (Hudgens), Brit (Ashley Benson) and Cotty (Rachel Korine, the director’s wife). Indeed, there’s plenty to enjoy once the white flag has been raised, from the glistening neon polish of Benoit Debie’s ace lensing to James Franco’s latest gonzo turn, this time as a gold-toothed, bird-brained white gangsta who has modeled his entire image on Lil’ Wayne.įranco dominates the proceedings after entering them about a half-hour in, not least because the four putative heroines remain blurred at the edges throughout.
Just about every charge of social negligence leveled at “Spring Breakers” can be countered with an arch claim of intent, which makes it at once playful and wearying enjoyment is contingent on how little you’re willing to fight it. It’s a line this frequently amusing film never negotiates with complete success, though Korine might believe this ambiguity is itself indicative of the generation under scrutiny. From its dayglo opening montage depicting the sights and sounds of a typical spring break - a relatively modern rite of passage that finds college students congregating in coastal towns for reckless drinking and indiscriminate sex - Korine is plainly aping the aesthetic of such vapid MTV exploitation shows as “Jersey Shore.” Less clear is whether he’s effectively satirizing them or merely complicit in the glossy meretriciousness of the culture they represent. If the film is a sellout, however, it’s a calculatedly ironic one.