This Time Around, I'll Try Not To Kill Anyone At My Prom
I think I'm going to throw up. This is a movie about a spoiled little retard, made by a spoiled little retard, which feels somehow incestuous. And not the good kind of incest, either, like two red-headed sisters scissoring or a MILTF getting fisted by her pre-teen daughter. It's the nauseating kind of incest, where a grandfather with hair in his ears goes down on a baby. I think it's because this movie is so self-consciously hip and bratty, and it seems exactly like an idea Sofia Coppola came up with while getting stoned with Spike Jonze.
As the title would suggest, this film is a biography of Marie Antoinette, of sorts, and as such is a period piece. But aside from the detailed costumes and set design, everything about the movie screams John Hughes without the wry sense of humor. The language, theperformances, the soundtrack that sounds like a college radio station around 10 PM, everything is modern and ultra-cool; a backstage documentary at a Strokes concert, in high collars and frilly dresses. These anachronisms, coupled with a hand-held camera and cinema verite visual style, make for a jarring but interesting interpretation of Antoinette's story, essentially positing that the French court at Versailles was a lot like high school.
Big fucking deal. Everything is a lot like high school. Work is like high school. University is like high school. The Internet is like high school. Everybody is trying to fuck everybody else, but failing, you get called a 'faggot' a lot if you don't watch football, and I'm hooked on Benzedrine. Things have been like high school before there even was high school, because high school is full of the retarded, a timeless condition independent of whether or not gym class is in session. Gossip and pack behavior are eternal conditions, and the movie reflects that life will has always been, and always will be, Mean Girls. It somewhat depressing to realize that no matter how successful I become in life, I'll still be trying to bum cigarettes and giving my girlfriend a hurried abortion with a coat hanger in a bathroom stall, and perhaps that's where some of my animosity towardsthis film comes. I don’t like bumming cigarettes, especially from all the raver idiots who seemed to have plenty of Dad’s money to by menthols, scared to death of me because I wore a leather jacket instead of a candy colored jumper and didn’t have a cock in my mouth, and I don’t like this movie. It's certainly competently made, and the stylistic choices are as bold as they are irritating, but despite the interesting ideas I came out of it frustrated. I should have liked it too, because Kirsten Dunst is in it, and she's got those nice crooked teeth that show she's already been properly housebroken, but it still didn't do it for me. Despite the incest.