Harmony Korine’s Spring Breakers tries very hard to make you believe it is a really dumb movie. This is a film, after all, whose opening sequence looks like one of those late-night Girls Gone Wild commercials, only in slow-motion and set to Skrillex. A film that has James Franco playing a rapper who moonlights as a drugs and arms dealer (and vice versa), calling himself Alien and driving a convertible with a “BALLR” license plate. No, seriously. Picture James Franco with cornrows, grills, and a huge dollar sign tattooed on his neck, speaking in a dubious accent and ending every other sentence with “y’all.” That’s how all-up-in-your-face stupid Spring Breakers is. Of course, there’s always a chance that it doth protest too much.
And in fact, after that ultra-aggressive introduction that shoves a good fifty different pairs of breasts in your face in under two minutes, Spring Breakers soon proves to be a much more contemplative movie than one might expect. We move from the beaches of Florida to some small town up north, where we meet our bored heroines. Brit (Ashley Benson), Candy (Vanessa Hudgens), and pink-haired Cotty (Rachel Korine) are your stereotypical wild college girls, partying hard, smoking pot, doing the occasional line of coke. Faith (Selena Gomez) is quieter, an apparently tame churchgoing girl whose preacher looks like a somewhat less douchey version of Guy Fieri forever going on about how awesome Jesus is. All four are bored out of their minds and only dream of leaving their dull lives behind, even if only for a short while. Young people bored and dreaming of change; that’s been the basis for many a movie, and many a great one, too. It just so happens that the only thing those four can think of to get away from their boring small town and their boring lives is to get on a bus to Florida for Spring Break.
Except the girls don’t have enough money for the trip. We watch them sit around listlessly, wander the empty hallways of their dorms, go to parties where the only people there are those who didn’t manage to leave for Spring Break. Candy’s always carrying a squirt gun which she uses to squirt alcohol into her mouth (in case that wasn’t clear already, you can’t accuse this movie of being too subtle), which gives her, Brit, and Cotty the idea to rob the local fast food joint to finance their trip. Which they do. With Candy’s squirt gun, and a hammer. They brag to Faith about it afterwards, play it up as the coolest, most exciting thing they ever did. They mean it, too. Robbing a fast food restaurant so they can afford to go on Spring Break. This complete lack of ambition, even when committing crime, is kind of depressing.
So the girls get to St. Petersburg, and for a while everything’s alright. They party, they drink, they lounge in the pool. Do coke off of each others’ bodies. Until they get arrested because, well, even in Florida, coke’s illegal. (When the girls are made to stand before the judge, in the bikinis they were wearing when they got arrested, he hilariously concedes that he can’t charge them with possession, “because you didn’t have anything on your person.”) That’s when the aforementioned Alien (“Real name’s Al, but truth be told, I’m from another planet”) shows up, bails them out, and decides that he likes them so much that he wants to make them his right-hand women. Which Brit, Candy, and Cotty are more than happy to be.
In its second half, Spring Breakers has all the trappings of a crime film, including a turf war between Alien and his former best friend turned enemy, Big Arch. But it’s not a crime film, not really, not any more than the first half was really a Spring Break movie, or a female version of Project X. The same sense of being adrift with no clear purpose still permeates it all. Korine plays with the chronology, replays the same scenes over and over again, flashes forward to some detail we can’t make sense of yet, plays the same dialogue over slightly different images. “Spring Break,” Alien keeps repeating. “Spring Break forever.” Earlier, Faith complained that she couldn’t just pause life, freeze it, to live in the same moment forever. To be on Spring Break forever, as it were, and although her idea of Spring Break differs quite a bit from that of Alien, they’re expressing the same feeling, the idea that “normal” life makes no sense at all to them.
It would be easy to see Spring Breakers as an indictment of its characters’ pettiness and materialism. The film itself makes it almost too easy. When Alien invites the girls to his home, he shows them his large collection of guns, his countless baseball caps, his shorts that come in every single color. He literally makes them roll around in money, on his bed that’s not a bed, “but an art masterpiece.” “Look at my shit!” he keeps shouting. “This is the American dream!” Yet he isn’t beyond self-awareness, beyond the occasional ironic jab at himself. “I’ve got blue Kool-Aid!” he says. “I mean, look at my teeth, y’all!” And Franco sells it with a semi-goofy grin, displaying his grills.
No, Korine feels too much sympathy for his characters to be that judgmental. They’re messed up and lost and desperately looking for some form of validation, even if they’re looking in all the wrong places. “This is the most spiritual place I’ve ever seen,” Faith tells her grandmother on the phone, and she means it. How do you fill a void like that? Later, Alien sits at the piano by his pool, and at the girls’ request starts singing Britney Spears’s “Everytime”. Then Candy, Brit, and Cotty, wearing pink ski masks and armed with shotguns and assault rifles, join in. Korine films it as if it were the most profound thing in the world, and to them it is. That song, as generic as it may be (or maybe because it is so generic), actually speaks to them. Then the scene segues into a slow-motion montage of Alien and the girls attacking some of Big Arch’s henchmen, still set to the same song (with Britney actually taking over on vocals), and the whole thing is brutally stripped of all meaning. Until, at the last moment, we come back to Alien and the girls standing by the pool, singing together, watching the sun set. It’s fake and tacky, maybe, but it’s all they’ve got.
In the end, that’s what Spring Breakers is all about. “If you wanna go home, you can go home,” Alien tells Faith when she starts feeling uncomfortable around the gangster and his clique. “But then you’ll be home,” he adds. Back to square one. Back to the one place she couldn’t wait to leave. “Whenever you encounter temptation, God will offer you a way out,” the Guy Fieri preacher told her earlier, which would sound like a heavy-handed moral to the film if leaving were obviously the right decision to make. Which of course it is, from our point of view at least. From that of the girls, not so much. Spring Break can’t last forever, not even for Alien, not even for Brit and Candy, and it’s not where, as Faith believed, the girls can be “who they’re supposed to be.” Spring Breakers is pretty pessimistic about whether there is even such a place. Maybe Spring Break, even Alien’s version of it, really is the best the girls can hope for.