Review: The Bling Ring

Reacting to the occasionally interesting knuckleheads in The Bling Ring an odd weariness sets in. These four teenage girls and one guy who break into Hollywood celebrity homes to steal, but mainly to gloat at, an enormous display of glitzy possessions, aren’t exactly supposed to break our hearts. More like give us the creeps while we (and director Sophia Coppola) keep a safe distance. If it all gets a little too eerie, well, the thinking goes, Coppola is striving to take us out of our comfort zone. Meanwhile look for no directorial editorializing, thank you. Paris Hilton’s inner sanctum as a sick sight of consumerism overkill? Or just normal for a star of her magnitude? Aren’t these kids (including Emma Watson of Harry Potter fame) demented–no wait–heroic…just sad…maybe a lot like the rest of us? Coppola might as well be shooting through a pair of binoculars for all she’ll tell us about her perspective. Her non-manipulation is itself a peculiar sort of manipulation

An effective filmmaker, Coppola’s craftsmanship keeps it interesting, and Watson top-shelf performance as Nicki is not only good, it’s extra jarring that this Harry Potter kid has not only grown up but finds herself caught in this unsavory mess. Not that she and the rest of her crew aren’t enjoying themselves. They hop over security fences, find open sliding doors by the omnipresent swimming pool or keys left under doormats for heaven’s sake, after internet research by Marc (Israel Broussard) tells them the celebrity is not home on a particular evening. They pick the most vacuous and therefore ostentatious stars and never seem to get caught (more on this later). Hanging out in the same nightclubs as their prey, our merry band squander most of the profits derived from their bling loot. Cocaine and nightclub bottle service seem to be the best they can dream up for the cash they also steal. They even set up a lemonade-stand- style table at their Calabasas high school to sell off a little of the excess brand-name bags and shoes and scarves Mostly, though, they just get off on wearing the stuff, including Marc.

Based on real events depicted in a Vanity Fair article (at the film’s conclusion Coppola films the interviews), The Bling Ring is a weird mix of docudrama and sheer fantasy. Exaggerated in its depiction of the scope of these crimes, the film would have you believe security alarms haven’t been invented yet and none of these stars so much as leave a maid at home when they go out (doubly bothersome since even Watson’s middle-class home contains a house servant–conveniently the only one in the film).

Despite strong performances from everyone, the film far too often feels as empty as its subjects. Look for no mythopoetic construct here; The Bling Ring is not exactly Frank Perry’s The Swimmer. Had Burt Lancaster encountered this bunch of crazy kids, in fact, he would have been even more puzzled by Hollywood’s barren culture than he was in the 1968 film where he roamed in swim trunks from Southern California pool to pool looking for
a sliver of humanity. Here he would find a lot of shiny objects in search of a clue of meaning.

3 Harry Potters Meet Paris Hiltons (out of 5)