The women want to go on spring break and want to have fun, and he seems to want the same. Instead he tosses out his ideas like puzzle pieces and lets you see how or if they fit. Korine, a pasticheur and cultural vulgarian (part Dada, part European art cinema, part MTV’s “ Jackass”), isn’t interested in making up your mind for you.
Just kids or children of the damned? Take your pick. For those who don’t belong to their tribe (never wanted to, never did), they may be exotic, worrisome, frightening or representatives of the decline of the West in hot-pink bikinis. They’re beautiful and monstrous, enthralling and repellent. From rooms and halls these tanned, groomed, white-teethed paragons of American youth and orthodontics spill onto balconies and into pools, laughing and yelling as they drink, snort, dance, grind, thrash and jump jump jump up, moving together like a single pulsing organism. There they join an invading army that has seemingly commandeered every inch of sand, surf and hotel. There are consequences of a kind, but first: paaarty! The four later take off for spring break in St. Korine has traded in his plug-uglies for a far more seductive and commercially viable female quartet that includes two former Disney teen queens, Selena Gomez (as Faith) and Vanessa Hudgens (Candy), along with Ashley Benson (Brit) and his wife, Rachel Korine (Cotty). Korine’s last feature, “ Trash Humpers.” In that movie, shot on VHS tape, four characters in rubber masks run amok, getting down and dirty as they compulsively, even ritualistically grind their pelvises against anything - garbage, of course, included - in a creepy, joyless yet also amusing burlesque. If the laughter at times catches in your throat, well, that’s part of the queasy, transfixing experience that is “Spring Breakers,” which plays with some of the same ideas in Mr. In “Spring Breakers” he bores into a contested, deeply American topic - the pursuit of happiness taken to nihilistic extremes - but turns his exploration into such a gonzo, outrageously funny party that it takes a while to appreciate that this is more of a horror film than a comedy. He proves an excellent ringmaster and a crafty one too. Korine seems to be saying (or is he snickering?), now sit back, relax and enjoy the show. The beer doesn’t flow, it floods: over heads, writhing torsos and the bared breasts that wiggle like puppies and wag at the camera like the middle fingers that more and more revelers raise. Dozens, hundreds of gyrating, dancing young women and men are basking in the honeyed light - as the beat goes on and the smiles sour into sneers - though it becomes evident that they’re also marinating in a tsunami of beer. The first image of what looks like a beach party keeps the happy vibe going. They’re nice, these sounds of summer, promises of carefree, youthful pursuits like building sand castles and shrieking at waves. Just before the candy-colored apocalypse comes to Harmony Korine’s “Spring Breakers” you hear the peaceable murmurings of a beach, of lapping water, calling gulls and playing children.
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