My Take on Spring Breakers

I must admit that I wasn't very keen on seeing Spring Breakers, it seems I could catch an STD by simply looking at the poster. Yet, after reading multiple conflicting reviews, I decided to decide for myself if the movie is any good. I went to an eleven a.m. showing at a local theater anticipating that I would be the only one there. I ended up with five other cohorts in the audience.

Spring Breakers is being marketed as an Art House film, something I like to call Artsy Fartsy because it either protrays art or artistic farts. I find it helpful to approach such movies with little to no expectations. That way you're either pleasantly surprised or not disappointed. On both accounts I found Spring Breakers belonging to the later categories. Despite my skepticism, I tried to keep an open mind. The movie has the elements of good to interesting stories, extreme religion vs. overindulgence, yet the movie never follows through. We are presented with four college students who want "penis" and to go on spring break but lack the necessary funds besides 300 dollars they saved up , amounting to seventy five dollars each. This begs the question, why didn't these girls get jobs to pay for their vacation? I suppose that would have been the pragmatic thing to do and reality really wasn't the concern of this movie. Moreover, Spring Breakers would have lost an important plot point had the young ladies opted not to hold up a local chicken eatery, but this would imply that the film has a well developed plot.

The four heroines are, Faith, the only brunette in the group, a church going good girl who wears a Garfield t-shirt to bed, and Candy, Copulate, and Curse. These aren't the characters' actual names, with the exception of Candy, as I can't remember what they were called. I didn't bother to look them up, because it really doesn't matter, all three seem to be the same person especially Ashley Benson and Venessa Hudgens. In order to go on spring break, these three mouseketeers musketeers decide to rob a local eatery, that looks like it has never seen better days, with squirt guns and a junior sledge hammer. During their midnight heist, our uncapped crusaders choose to wear lets just call them "bikini bottoms" and ski-masks with their hair sticking out from underneath, thus making it easy to provide a description (Pink Hair anyone !!!) to the authorities. But we never see these girls answer to the consequences of their actions, unless cruising around on scooters in their very same bikini-bottoms was meant as a punishment. In case you have forgotten, this felony was committed because they only had 300 dollars in their spring break fund, yet we see them moments before consuming alcohol and snorting cocaine. One might ask how could they afford to pay for hard drugs? That's just another pesky detail the story doesn't bother itself with.

I won't go further into the story since it is so flimsy we find that entire chucks of monologue and dialogue are repeated verbatim, and scenes are used over and over again throughout the ninety-four minute duration. Maybe this is a good strategy for aspiring writers, when you run out of ideas, just repeat something you used earlier. Don't even bother with paraphrasing, simply copy and paste it ,as it is. In regards to the characters, we are left to our own devices in figuring why they do the things they do. We are only told that they want to go on Spring Break. We see them talk to a parent or caregiver, but we never get a glimpse of their relationship with the people on the other side. The film's creator, Harmony Korine, repeatedly denies that the movie is an F-you to Disney despite that all the leads, including Franco, are Disney/ABC stars, with the exception of Korine's own wife who plays either Candy, Copulate, or Curse - you take your pick. The girls even give a rendition of Brittany Spears "Baby One More Time", another Disney Alumni. Why would college kids know the lyrics to a song released in 1999 - do they even know who Brittany Spears is (I can hear the reply of a co-ed: "Oh yeah. Isn't she that old chick who like shaved her head and went like totally crazy.") Again, I approached Spring Breakers with no expectation what so ever, just curiosity. So I'm not surprised by the weak female roles developed by a middle aged man. I can understand why such young actresses might see this movie as an opportunity to break their Disney mold, but what kind of statement are they trying to make? Do they want to position themselves as serious grownup actors? In that case, might I suggest a film that requires them to act. Spring Breakers is void of any meaningful dialogue to a point that I feel like the writers were too lazy to even eavesdrop on actual college kids and steal their interactions. Even the metaphors are blatantly spelled out - Franco warning the girls to be careful in the water because there are sharks waiting to prance on them - how very subtle. 

And this brings us to Mr. Franco. Those of you who know me, know that I harbor a school-girl crush for James Franco, nevertheless, my need to be objective and fair is greater and more powerful (pun intended). A review in the Huffington post likened Franco's Alien to Pacino's Scarface, which might be true in terms of pop reference, for there are many to go around (why you act spicious y'all?). Despite Alien being the only interesting character in the movie, we never get to the root of his motivation. Why was he attracted to the girls? Was it to corrupt them - if so why didn't he further pursue Faith, the least corrupted of the corp? Alien comes off more goofy than dangerous. James Franco just wasn't menacing enough. Unlike Pacino in Scarface and The Godfather, Franco's eyes remain kind and congenial. Maybe I was blinded by my Franco colored glasses, but I think the character was meant to come off as a gangster wantabe and an all out imposter (thus the comic, albeit short, rendition of yet another Spears song "Everytime"). There are scenes where you can see fear in Alien's eyes, something you wouldn't expect of the the only white boy growing up in the hood. Having seen Franco's other performances, I tend to believe these moments of "what the fuck is going on" glares to be intentional and not momentary lapses in his performance, unlike his accent that trailed off at times. But still Franco's Alien left something to be desired, as much as the rest of Spring Breakers. I would have liked to know more about the character. Why did he and Gucci fallout after being childhood friends, besides the very generic turf tug of war? But Spring Breakers does not satisfy us with any answers. Staring at James Franco's face as Alien on the huge screen, I couldn't help but think of the contrast between his appearance (which was pure white trash - I had a very strong urge to grab a luffa and scrub him clean) and that of Johnny Depp in Pirates of the Carribean who was very suave and sexy with his eye liner, greasy hair, scurfy face, and mouth grid. Further reenforcing the goofy vs. menacing debate. Dear James, and I says this with much love and admiration, if you are going to spend the majority of a film shirtless, may I suggest hiring a personal trainer, preferably Ryan Goslings's trainer. Dear Production Team, if Mr. Franco refuses to train for the role, putting him in a tank top would have sufficed, better yet photoshoping his head onto Ryan Gosling's torso isn't a bad idea. 

When all is said and done about Spring Breakers the one thing that remains with viewers is the image of gyrating bodies, an image so intense it is nauseating. Maybe that was Mr. Korine's intentions all along. Anything in excess is sickening, whether be it religion, partying, schooling, drugs, or naked bodies. I don't know, maybe I'm not sophisticated enough to digest an Art House movie, God knows I'm not among its target audience. Yet, I left the movie theater not knowing what point Spring Breakers was trying to make, or even sure if it had a point of view to start with. Interestingly, upon existing, I noticed that "Oz the Great and Powerful" was also playing at the same cinema. I couldn't help but wonder whether they intentionally placed both movies in adjacent theaters, and if so, why? I chose to believe it was a coincidence, but pondered on the contrast between the two films, the wholesomeness of the Disney family productions vs. the lewd cringe-worthiness of Spring Breakers. I pondered on the contrast in Franco's appearance as Oz and Alien, yet he is surrounded by four female leads in both roles (counting the China Girl in Oz). I pondered how all eight females character are very poor examples, wondering whether this is a testament to Hollywood's paradigm towards women or Mr. Franco choice of projects.

Donuts

There were donuts in the office today,
Ever the seductress with trailing scent & golden curves.
I resisted temptation as much as I could.
Eventually I caved in & took a bite.
I swallowed with all my might.

My attempt at Science Fiction and Fantasy

She is getting ready to leave. She starts collecting her things and putting them away in her bag. He senses that she is upset, that his declaration of love has warranted this sudden need to catch the train. He doesn't want to make matters worse, so he stands by quietly watching her neatly arrange her notes in a pile before stuffing them into her pink folder. He tries to read her expression, but fails. All he can see is a blank stare, a blink here and a blink there. When she's done, he walks her to the door. They stand in the dimmed hallway, not sure what to say. They just look at each other with eyes screaming of a thousand unspoken words. Neither wants to make the first move, both are reluctant with fear of chasing the other away. Then, she leans in and takes him by surprise. Their relation has never transcended the boundaries of their desks. Sure their feet have touched on the rare occasions where they'd somehow synchronize a stretch. Their fingers have grazed while exchanging notes and handing out coffee. But never before have they engaged in a deliberate act of physical contact, not even to hold hands. He is amused that she'd be the one to make the first move. Her body moves in closer to his. She overtakes him with a warm embrace. Standing tippy-toe, she wraps her arms around his neck, nestles her head in the crevasse below his chin, and holds on for dear life. He can feel her pressing against him. He can smell her scent. He can feel her breath. He can hear her heart beat in harmony with his own. They stayed there for what seems like a short eternity. She knew it was time to go. She raises her head and catches his gaze. Then, she kisses him on the cheek and disappears as if in thin air. He just stands there, trying to permanently edge the memory in his being.

Endless

I stumbled across a well with no end
Keep falling away from the light
Evermore engulfed in the darkness of night
Surrender to the abyss and raise a black flag. Admit defeat
In a prison of solitude, I am sentenced to Life
Eternally in a state of perpetual descend
Eagerly awaiting mercy in a thud 

They say it's like a knot in your gut
But it's not
It's a knot in your heart
It swells up to your throat
I can't breathe
I run to the window
I stick my head out
I breathe in
I look down
I see the end
If only I had the courage to jump
I fall to my knees. I beg and I plead
Please end it, end it now
I won't ask for what I want
Just an end 

Hands claps to my chest
Eyes piercing the sky
Knees bent to the floor
I pray for my life

This too shall laugh

In Egypt, students have to stand in line before morning classes, kind of like the military. The surrounding grounds are divided into sections for each stage, and each section is divided into areas for each class. The students from each class stand in a line of ascending order of height. Being 5' 2", I was always among the first few students in line. These lineups last for about 30 minutes each morning. We salute the flag and sing our national anthem, and the school makes important announcements. The best part of this daily routine is the school broadcast. Every morning a group of kids present news items and stories pertaining to a certain subject. Sundays are for the Arabic broadcast, Mondays are for the English broadcast, and so on.

During high school, I became in charge of the English broadcast. Together with a group of colleagues, I'd prepare our weekly program. We'd always try to make each show entertaining as well as informational. On Mondays, I would stand in front of the entire student body with a microphone in hand, my voice being broadcasted out of two megaphones positioned on the highest point of our school house, and deliver our show. I became a minor celebrity of sorts. I'd always end the program with the same sign off, "With this we come to end of our English broadcast. Until we meet again, this is Amira Shawkey, wishing you a happy day." I loved it when students would come up to me during lunch break to share how much they enjoyed certain segments or suggest future topics. It meant that they were listening attentively to our show and interested in what we had to say. For the first time I understood how it felt to be proud of something I did. No matter the weather, sun or rain, I always showed up on our broadcast days.

In 1991, we had a political segment to talk about the now infamous referendums president Mubarak had every six years to see if the Egyptian people wanted him to continue for another term. Of course the results were always an astounding 99.9% for yes, despite the fact that almost no one went to the polls. The objective of the segment was to introduce the word "referendum" and its meaning. As I was presenting the various forms of the word, singular and plural, I said plulal instead. I immediately realized my mistake, smiled, took a deep breath and repeated the sentence, "And the plulal form of referendum is referenda." As if I suffered from a temporary bout of Tourettes, every time I opened my mouth, all that came out was "Plulal" "Plulal" "Plulal". Our principle, who taught High School English back in the day, came closer and whispered to me, "It is pronounced plural." By this time, the entire student body and most of the faculty were laughing. I surrendered to the fact that I will never be able to say the word plural out loud again. I shook my head and said that no one is perfect. That day, after the broadcast ended, the crowd applauded a little bit more enthusiastically than usual. Later people came up to say how brave I was to admit my mistake and move on. Others said I should have ignored it all together and proceed as if nothing went wrong. I really didn't think much about how silly I appeared at the time this was happening. My only concern was making sure that I didn't ruin the segment and the program didn't exceed its 15 minute allotment. Needless to say, I was very embarrassed after the fact. My confident and cocky ego was appalled that I couldn't properly pronounce a simple word like "plural" (I can't say "comfortably" either). The fact the people laughed about the whole incident made me realized that it wasn't the end of the world.

I like to share this story with my friends and colleague who have a difficult time presenting their work or engaging in public speaking. I always tell them to image the worst possible thing that could happen. They'll trip and fall down. They'll mix up words. They'll make a fool of themselves! So what? Who cares? Most likely, people will laugh and soon enough forget the whole thing. With any work we put forward, we always do our best. We try our hardest to ensure the work is perfect. We practice over and over. We ask for other people's opinion. But shit happens! We can't control the universe and we can't control people's reception of our work. As long as we know and believe that it's not the end of the world, everything will be okay. Even if people mercilessly tease us for a bad performance, always remember a 15 year old girl regurgitating the word "Plulal" "Plulal" "Plulal" in front of a thousand people and tell ourselves "This too shall laugh!"

Creative Writing - Biography

My earliest memories are of me sitting on the floor cross legged in front of the TV watching old episodes of "Leave it to Beaver" and eating cheese and crackers. You see, I was born in Charlotte, North Carolina. That was my home for the first seven years of my life. In 1983 my parents, who are Egyptian, decided to move us all back to Cairo, Egypt. Needless to say, the little seven year old me was in for quite of a shock.

Before I proceed it is important to understand the nature of Egyptian parents, most importantly the Egyptian mother. Egyptian mothers are the grand pharaohs of a household. Their commands are to be obeyed without argument or even an attempt to understand their rational. This demand of obedience is not solely driven by the Egyptian Mother's dictatorship, no, but by the fact that all Egyptian mothers are always right and more knowledgeable about everything concerning their children. In the spring of 1983, my sister and I were told, by our Egyptian mother, that we are going to move to Cairo where we will live for the rest of our lives. Our opinion on the matter was never sought nor considered in our parents decision.

Upon arriving to Cairo, my only form of protest to this abrupt exile was to give everyone the silent treatment. I would sit in the corner and refuse to talk. I supposed people assumed I couldn't understand Arabic, but that wasn't true. I understood Arabic very well, although my conversational skills were not that good. I spent the summer of '83 in utter silence, speaking to my only friend Amany, my older sister.

Unfortunately my silence didn't pay off. We have moved to Cairo and we were there to stay. Over the years, I had surrender to my fate, but try as I may I could never fit in with the Egyptian culture. I was always labeled odd or weird. As a teenager, this bothered me, so I tried my best to assimilate to other young Egyptians. This was an unsuccessful endeavor. I didn't like Egyptian pop-culture. I thought the movies were pointless, actors were not handsome, and songs were silly. Finally, while in college I was able to embrace the fact that I am different from everyone else around me. I didn't show that different side of me in public, only a few close friends and my sister got to see the real me.

Not conforming to the Egyptian Culture has helped throughout my career. People would assume that I was educated abroad and thus have a better understanding of my profession than my Egyptian counterparts (another fascinating aspect of the Egyptian mindset, what we call the Foreigner Complex - valuing the skills of foreign professionals more than local ones). I was able to push the envelop and defy people's notion of how things are done. I was also constantly criticized for being out of touch with reality and too inflexible. I was often told that my way is not how things are done in Egypt and I have to allow more flexibility. I preserved and people came around, eventually.

On my 30th birthday I had a break through, I like to call it my mid-life crisis. I went through a long and emotional phase of self re-discovery and self appreciation. I experienced a magnitude of emotions, but most importantly I stopped caring about other people's opinions of me. I am who I am, and yes, I like who I am. I'm not everyone's cup of tea and a lot of people are not going to like me. Very few people will see me for who I am. The moment I stopped caring about what other people thought, I was able to allow the true me to come forward for all to see. It has been seven years since my mid-life crisis. Everyday, as I let my self be what it is, I discover new things about me. Somethings I like, others I don't. However, by being true to my self I am able to evolve as a human being.

Gotta Be Somebody

There's on old lady I often see riding the train. She has short gray hair and wears amusing winter caps, I guess that's why I noticed her in the first place. Sometimes I see her on the train, other times I see her on the platform. We walk along the same path from the station. I suppose we live on the same street, only she turns left and I turn right. Sometimes I see her walking around town. She is always alone, with a somber expression on her face. 

Tonight, while picking up dinner from the corner diner, I saw her sitting at a table by the door. She was eating dinner and reading a book. She was sitting there with her short gray hair and knitted cardigan, as always, all alone. As I looked at her I realized that she's me in 30 years. That will be me sitting there at the table by the door, eating dinner and reading a book, all alone. My eyes teared up as I exited on my way home. 

I don't want to be the lonely old lady, but I don't know what to do about it. I can deal with solitude for short durations. But the idea that this is it, forever; and forever is God knows how long, pushed my over the edge. Sure, I can cry and feel sorry for myself. That is all I can really do about it, but I wasn't in the mood for a sad mood that night. I ate my dinner in bed, as always, all alone. Then I went to you tube to look up a music video that would better express how I was feeling. I like to live my life vicariously through songs, movies, and books. I turned on the video, got up out of bed and lip synched my heart out. As always, I was all alone smiling and playing the air guitar, knowing that there's gotta be somebody for me out there.