THE REAL CANCUN review
Published at: April 23, 2003, 12:36 a.m. CST by headgeek
THE REAL CANCUN is a limp flaccid covered cock of a movie. That’s right, absolutely nothing to see. You can see better and/or more titties in H.O.T.S or PORKY’S or SCHINDLER’S LIST. I’ve been watching that ad banner on the front page of my site for 2 weeks now and it is quite an impressive ad banner. It promises you an endless parade of cleavage and asscrack with zero personality, and that is almost the movie to the ‘t’.
First off, is this a documentary? No. These people were cast to be in this film. Did these kids get to Cancun on their own? No, they accepted a trip down there. So, they didn’t get down there on their own. This vacation wasn’t the culmination of skimping and saving for months and months. Their car didn’t break down. They didn’t have to wonder if they’d get into any clubs. Would there be anyone to meet? The real Cancun? Did any of these kids ever have to worry one second about having the money to get back home? Sleep out on the beach, because they didn’t have money for the hotel that night?
No, this isn’t the real Cancun. One, this movie makes Cancun look like a paradise instead of the tourist septic tank of the world. If you notice, not once in the entire film will you see money exchange hands. Nor will you hear how much it costs to go bungee jumping, or get personal time with dolphins, or get horses and time to gallop them along a private beach. The endless tequila shots, no cost. The gigantic hotel rooms… no costs. And who are these kids?
These are young hot men and women that went through an audition process to be in the first ‘reality’ movie from the producers of THE REAL WORLD. Yeah, they’re gonna be natural real kids alright? Surely they don’t think this is a chance to break into the land of LaLa. And so what if they did, right? All we want to see is who fucks who and watch these 16 completely uninteresting slabs of meat sizzle in the sun… right?
Well, first off… If you look at that R-rating and think you’re going to see HARD – R, you’re sadly delusional. The wet t-shirt contest is the location to see titties. This is a 3 minute segment of the film. The two twins take off their tops and reveal their micro-tits with raisinette nips atop. No jiggle or wiggle, and with their hands covering them most of the time. Every single “LOVE SCENE” is shot with the actors completely covered by blankets from their feet to over their head. Constantly aware that there is a night-vision camera watching. OK – so then we get to hear the sound of them fucking? Nope, usually some sort of pop-soundtrack over it.
So basically, just about any R-rated romantic film ever is more risqué. Alright, so at least you get to see a bunch of wild drinking, right? Oh yeah, you’ll see body shots and shots and more shots and beer… but you never get to watch the people doing the fucked up shit that they would be doing. There is no barfing, no passing out. Only one of the 16 ever gets the chance to really be the glorious freak, and that’s the much discussed Alan. The never drank a drop, gosh gee-whiz ah shucks guy from Texas Tech.
Alan is the only character in the whole film that the audience really builds any vague sense of empathy for, but since the film is going to be about all these kids, you don’t get his story. You get a piece of it. Slices here and there. Alan is essentially the Alan Ruck “Cameron Frye” character from FERRIS BUELLER’S DAY OFF, only without that quality of dialogue, neurotic angst or frustrated jealousy. Alan is the “Spring Break God” that boy that became THE MAN, but if only we had gotten to know more about both sides of him… well, that might’ve been a movie.
I could have cared less about a single other story in this thing, and I would have possibly liked it had this been a documentary about Alan. If we’d met his parents, his friends back home. Find out why he wanted to do this trip. What was his reason? Was it just to see some boobies, or was there some larger dream here? Unfortunately, we never get into his head. We just hear his frustrations in brief, but never in depth, because its time to go to some fucking noisy club to see a bunch of white people that can’t dance look like electrified retards on a hot plate.
A John Hughes Film? Not for one fucking second. There might be a shallow echo, but overall, these kids… they never once talk about their dreams, hopes or aspirations. All they have ever been and will be is this spring break. To them, fucking someone this week is all that their lives apparently mean. I don’t know what a single one of these kids want to be after college or even what they’re studying. The only possible way I’d watch this film again, is if they edited the footage together with some Freddy or Jason footage so I could see these utterly vacuous wastes of my and your time butchered the way horror films have treated retards like these for decades.
But we don’t get that. Instead, we get an absolute and total waste of time. This film doesn’t work as titillation, social commentary, entertainment, a travelogue or even a commercial. The only thing good about this film, you can get from the ad banners on my site… Tits – Ass – Tits – Ass
Tits – Ass – Tits – Ass
Tits – Ass – Tits – Ass
Tits – Ass – Tits – Ass
Tits – Ass – Tits – Ass
Tits – Ass – Tits – Ass
Tits – Ass – Tits – Ass
Tits – Ass – Tits – Ass
Tits – Ass – Tits – Ass
Tits – Ass – Tits – Ass
Tits – Ass – Tits – Ass
Tits – Ass – Tits – Ass
Tits – Ass – Tits – Ass
Tits – Ass – Tits – Ass
Tits – Ass – Tits – Ass
Tits – Ass – Tits – Ass
Tits – Ass – Tits – Ass
Tits – Ass – Tits – Ass
Tits – Ass – Tits – Ass
Tits – Ass – Tits – Ass
Tits – Ass – Tits – Ass
Tits – Ass – Tits – Ass
Tits – Ass – Tits – Ass
Tits – Ass – Tits – Ass
Tits – Ass – Tits – Ass
Tits – Ass – Tits – Ass…
Just watch the ad banner and save your money. Any of Russ Meyer’s films are better. And 10 minutes in any chatroom on the internet can get you harder stuff than this.
Why is this so worthless? Well, had this been a narrative feature about Spring Break, or even a real documentary by a real talented documentarian, it would have FOCUSED on the themes present here instead of lacquering over it all with a high gloss finish. You would have heard what the asshole told the girl to fuck him, and then seen what that did to her, instead of quickly cutting away from those scenes to HAPPIER, CHEERIER moments. The two best friends that finally get together, we don't see them waking up that next morning, hung-over and realizing what they've done. In fact, we never see them again. Hmm... guess they were no longer fun. Right? This is just a load of shit. There's a reason Narrative films and Documentaries take time to put together. This pre-fabricated constructed "reality" bullshit needs to be nipped in the bud, because we folks in the theater seats deserve better stories than meandering bullshit like this.