Wes Perry's monthly night at the Upstairs Gallery, Making Out With Wes Perry, is an awesome variety show that has received a ton of well-deserved praise this year. Perry's skills as a storyteller and curator set the show apart, and, lucky for us, it turns out his talents extend to film reviewing, as well. Wes is here with a review of Harmony Korine's epileptic epic Spring Breakers.
Have you ever just wanted to be free? Free from school and work and all this crap? Free to dance in a bikini and smoke a ton of weed and do body shots with the ATL Twins? I know I have, and that's all that Selena Gomez wants in Spring Breakers.
She calls home and tells her grandmother, "SORRY GRAMMA-I SHOULD HAVE TOLD YOU I WAS COMING BUT YOU WOULDN'T HAVE LET ME--UGH--YOU SHOULD COME NEXT YEAR! I AM STAYING HERE FOREVER!"
That's not the exact line, but it's something like that.
Then the party is SHUT DOWN by the po-po and Selena is thrown in jail with her girlfriends. Oh no, what are they gunna do? Just when you're about to totally lose hope and think to yourself "man she should have stayed home!" they are rescued by a baked and braided James Franco.
It's unclear what his motives are. Is he a pimp? A perv? Or as he claims, is he actually an alien from another world sent to Earth to party? Since I personally believe there is intelligent life in the universe, I choose to believe him.
Selena is not having it. She wanted a new life, but not with some alien, so she cries a lot then leaves.
That leaves three girls left, the pink headed one and the two blondes. They're a lot tougher than poor Selena, which you can tell because they have crazy hair, like I said. The blondes are super sexy and Franco is like, "YESSSSS!" He shows off for them by taking them into his pink-neon-art-deco-Golden-Girls-bungalow-style bed, which is AMAZING by itself, but he's loaded it with CA$H and GUN$ and everything a girl could ever want.
The blondes play dumb with braided Franco, before turning his guns on him. "WOAH WHY WHUD-I-DO?," you could tell Franco was thinking. He had no idea what a handful they were going to be, but maybe he should have guessed, you know, because of all their crazy hair.
Anyway, he outsmarts the ladies by sucking on the gun like it's a dick, NO JOKE HE SUCKS ON IT LIKE A FUCKING DICK. Then he has this shit eating gold grill covered grin, and proclaims that the three of them are soul mates.
The rest is a gangster fairy tale, lit by neon and filled with deafening dubstep and the occasional Britney ballad. You come to realize that braided Franco sucking on a gun dick is really a metaphor. Spring break is really a metaphor. And as you sit and wonder if you yourself are a metaphor, you realize, I don't have to fucking analyze this, because school's out and it's fucking spring break and I'M FINALLY FREE!
If not forever, then at least you're free for this one week. Or, well, 94 suntanned-beer-stained-molly-popping minutes.