Bullshit

Let’s start off with a definitive statement: Harmony Korine’s movies are awful, and we are all lessened by viewing them.

However, sometimes people mature. To be fair, Korine has matured, and Spring Breakers does have a method to its awfulness, I think. The fact that it remains awful is part of the point: This film is meant, like most of Korine’s film, to irritate. So, I didn’t enjoy it. I actually had a curious lack of reaction to it, really: When it was over I honestly wasn’t sure if I had enjoyed myself or not. Or stabbed myself in the eyes or not.

I’ll say two things about this movie that are semi-coherent.

1. Korine Makes Partying Look Painful. This is, I think, a triumph actually. Korine manages to make a film about four nubile college-age girls who spend much of the film wearing bikinis, snorting drugs, and engaging in SexyTime dancing that is about as titillating as a Root Canal. After watching this film the last thing I want to do is go down to Florida and party with the coeds. And he does this with some skill – there’s no abrupt moral event horizon. No one gets sick (in fact, these chicks bust out the coke and booze constantly and never once seem to have a single moment of physical suffering for it) and no one has a bad date-rapey moment. Korine manages to make partying look just as exhausting as it actually is – the sort of good time you have to ingest chemicals to even tolerate, much less enjoy.

2. Korine Uses Irritation Effectively. One technique Korine uses over and over again in the film is an annoying repetition. Lines of dialogue and images are repeated, sequences shown again, and the repetition is continued until you want to claw out your eyes. Curiously, though, this means that when he finally cuts to a new scene, your sense of relief is visceral. I think this has to be on purpose, judging from how often he uses the trick. And it works. It put me on the edge of my last nerve and when he finally switched to a new scene – even if that scene was three girls in pink ski masks holding guns singing a Britney Spears song – I was psyched to see this new scene just because it was new. It’s an interesting effect, if not an enjoyable one.

So, clearly Harmony Korine is not a hack: He’s a thoughtful filmmaker who makes films the way he wants to, with goals and artistry. I simply find the finish products pretty irritating, and that’s fine. In the end, if you’re looking for a movie about boobs, sex, and drugs, you should look elsewhere, despite the fact that there are indeed boobs, sex, and drugs in this movie. If you’re looking for a movie with characters instead of soulless, expressionless puppets in bikinis, look elsewhere.

If you’re looking for a movie wherein James Franco appears to be slathered in some sort of Sex Grease, then this is the ticket you have been looking for.

When I was really young, I lagged behind some of the other kids in school when it came to pop culture. All of a sudden these kids were listening to rock on the radio and going out to horror movies, while I remained a little more sheltered. Naturally, I took some shit for it. I remember once, desperate to seem at least marginally cool, I claimed to be a fan of Led Zeppelin. I was challenged to name on song, and couldn’t, and my shame was complete.

Luckily, I have a very short memory for shame, as anyone who has gone out for a drink with me can attest.

The lesson stuck with me, though, and in High School and College I became one of those people who worked really hard to be on the cutting edge of everything. The first to hear about a band, the first to see a movie, the first to refuse to read a book for English Class because he could write a paper on it and get an “A” without actually reading it, a skill I carried with me through my entire education. I did that for a long time. I refused to listen to spoilers, too, because I wanted to rush out and see that movie or TV show right away.

Now? Not so much.

These days, I am in far less of a hurry. I wait. I wait for reviews to come in. I wait for TV shows to hit their stride. I wait for songs to filter up through the chaff. And you know what? It’s SO MUCH BETTER. Because I know longer watch things and realize I’ve wasted another two hours of my life. I no longer waste my time worrying about being on the cutting edge, because there is, actually, zero value in being the first person to know about something. And spoilers? Fuck spoilers. If something isn’t able to stand up to spoilers, it wasn’t very good in the first place.

Part of this, of course, is due to technology. In the ancient days, otherwise known as my youth, if you missed a TV show or movie, good fucking luck ever seeing it again. Certain classics got re-run all the time, but generally speaking if you missed it on its first run, you were SOL. Today with DVDs and on-demand and the Pirate Bay, seriously, you can watch just about anything any time. The better question is, should you? Because most of the stuff out there isn’t worth all that much effort, and we all know it. The vast majority of the entertainment you consume — including, probably, my own books — will be completely forgotten in due time, and you might be forgiven for wondering why you’re wasting your time on it. So why bother breaking a sweat to experience it in the first place?

That’s where the Slow Method pays dividends: By the time I make an effort to actually see/read/listen to something, there’s at least some reason to expect it all to be worth my time. The question is, is my time really all that valuable? Nope. Carry on.

Hell is Other People

I’ve never been a huge Facebook fan. I see the point and all , and I know a lot of folks get a lot out of it, but for a misanthrope like me Facebook is just another way to feel smug while ignoring people. Now, for some folks, Facebook serves a real useful purpose in their lives and that’s great. For me, Facebook has become a glimpse into the Horror That Is Other People. As a result, Facebook has also become the least reliable way to communicate with me – though to be fair, the only truly reliable way to communicate with me is to stand directly in front of me and shout at me while at the same time slapping me in the face. You then have a 66% chance of gaining my attention. Or being vomited on. Depends on how drunk I am at the time.

Other ways of communicating with me and their reliability:

• Email: 5%
• Text Message: 0%
• Telephone: 1%
• In-person but At Normal Volume and No Slapping: 10% (50% chance I will later remember this meeting as dancing the waltz with a bear)
• Note wrapped around rock thrown through window: %50 (51% if it hits me)

The Five FaceBook People You Will Meet in Hell

I do, of course, check Facebook from time to time, because I’ve been informed that completely ignoring people on Facebook is a Dick Move. So I have become painfully aware of the distinct personality types you meet on Facebook. Let’s stipulate that one of those personality types is what we’ll call the Normal. The Normal enjoys a bit of social media notoriety, likes to post the occasional picture and chat with people. It’s a broad category which we’ll ignore because it’s essentially boring.

Instead, we’re going to explore the Five People on Facebook You’ll Meet in Hell.

1. The Bragger. You guys! I can’t believe I am so lucky and successful! Whether it’s how many books they sold, the big promotion, their amazing relationship, these folks like to brag. Fuck them. Fuck them all. Oh, they get hidden so fast.

2. The Sad Sack. You know what’s great about the folks who post mysterious sadness all the time? The fact that they never tell you what the fuck they are complaining about:

SadSack436: OMFG my life is so awful I can’t believe what just happened

Concerned Fool99: What happened?

SaSack436: It’s personal. But so awful it would turn your hair white.

Note to everyone in the universe: If it’s personal, DO NOT REFER TO IT ON FACEBOOK.

3. The Parent. We get it. You performed the most basic biological function of any organism and procreated. Your child is not special. Shut up. Look, I have nothing against people being proud of their kids and expressing their affection on Facebook. What I don’t need is your torturous twisty logic that somehow equates the fact that your kid remembers to breathe means they represent the next stage in human evolution.

4. The Politico. I don’t care what your political leanings are, your endless posting of borrowed wisdom and half-assed rants are hidden so fast I give myself whiplash. I don’t know for certain what Facebook is supposed to be used for, but it sure isn’t so you can lecture me on politics like some drunk old man in a bar.

5. The Mystery. The Mystery favors one-word posts. Stuff like Gherkins, or, possibly, Bad day. Certainly nothing that makes any sense unless you just spent the last thirty-six hours or so hanging out with them. I’m not sure if this is supposed to underscore that you’re not one of the cool people who understand their codes, or if they’re just incapable of having thoughts longer than one word. And, I find, I do not care.

So, am I a Normal? Of course not. I’m a Lurker. I scroll through your Facebook posts but barely interact, because I am far too cool and mean-spirited to engage on Facebook. And, possibly, lonely. So terribly lonely.