Archives for posts with tag: nudity


Why did so many people like this again? Oh yeah, vaguely non-linear editing and boobs.

I wasn’t going to watch this but I’d heard it was “surprisingly good” and things like that. So what’s the prevalent critical narrative about Spring Breakers? That it’s a film that disguises itself as being a party flic and is instead a social commentary. If you didn’t get it most of the way through, having been hypnotized by the bikinis and thongs and widespread jiggling of all kinds, Harmony Korine hits you with a sledge hammer that says “Here is some satire!” But let’s be perfectly honest, Korine wants to have it all. He wants to be able to make a film that calls into question the hedonistic party life and its moral vacuousness, but he also wants his slow-motion shots of naked breasts flopping under streams of beer.

So Wikipedia posts a “controversy” section in its article on the film, with the subheading “Sexist or Feminist” for the wild debate that has gone on around it. It’s not that complicated. The film plays with excess in a way that’s semi-intelligent, but it’s really just male fantasy with a bit of a conscience. It’s the Wild Things (1998) of the day, and Vanessa Hudgens may have proved she can play the minx, but other than that I wasn’t particularly entertained. Because this ought to be entertaining, at least in a truly base way, since its attempt at real thematic content is, at best, lame.

Oh though James Franco should deserve credit for being so gross in such a convincing way.

Now cry, Selena Gomez, cry. And cry again. And cry some more. (Because this film relies on lots of annoying repetitions.)



John Turturro and Sam Rockwell flirt with frontal nudity and the 90s stay so 90s!

So the story is more or less 90s buddy flick gold: an uptight manager type (Turturro) makes a chance encounter with a free-wheeling upstart (Rockwell) who helps him learn to live a little more fully. Classic stuff. In the meantime, we get to see Turturro doing an excellent job of appearing like a real poindexter, while Rockwell is the wildcard screaming and carrying on in almost every shot. You could almost say that this is a warm-up role for the one Rockwell plays in Seven Psychopaths. The whole thing takes place in a sort of generic South, and so serves up some ripe clichés, but still manages to avoid overdoing it.

The best reason to watch this is for how 90s it is. Hydrox cookies get a product placement, much attention is paid to a mix tape played in a dashboard cassette deck, and the professional wrestling portrayed on TV really resembles what was on at that time, complete with a character called Saddam Insane. These are just a few details, but the point is that this is fun if you want a bit of a flashback to what the 90s were really like, rather than any romantic notion of kids wearing flannel. Straight camp.

For bonus points, listen to all the weird and awkward little dialogues that take place with minor characters far away in a shot or off screen. That’s when I think DiCillo is clearly messing with us.

Oh, and did I already say it? I’ll say it again: a remarkable amount of male frontal nudity in this one! It’s almost art-house!