“Twelve” is a dreadful portrait of a crowd of stupid rich kids from the Upper East Side, and how they spend their parent’s money on drugs and on parties. First we are introduced to Mike (a miscast Chace Crawford who still thinks he’s on “Gossip Girl”), who has recently lost his mother to cancer and has skipped his senior year. He does not smoke, or drink, or do drugs. He only deals in them. As Emma Roberts’s character explains to him at some point: “You like the power you have, being sober around people who are always fucked up…yet that makes you so much more fucked up than them”. Amen to that sister. Then we get to meet a wide range of uninteresting characters, all eager to get high. Most of their parents are somewhere in the Carribean, and can only be reached by satellite phone (way to go mom and dad). Enter “Twelve”, a new drug on the market, which acts as a combination of coke and “X”, and is only sold by Mike’s dealer Lionel (a dreadful 50 Cent). One of the girls, Jessica, gets hooked on it immediately, and even offers her body to Lionel for more Twelve, which costs a thousand dollars for a tiny viral. You get the picture. The movie rambles on, and tries to come up with as many subplots as it can, to no avail. One of the characters gets falsly arrested for the murder of Mike’s cousin. This subplot was never resolved. But that’s just one of the things that doesn’t make sense in this really terrible movie. I admire Joel Shumacher’s attempt to draw a portrait of today’s youth and how fragile they can be in the face of drugs and/or related substances. But his movie is seriously pushing it, and doesn’t give us a reason to give a rat’s ass about any of its annoying characters. You know you’re in for trouble when you find yourself wishing everyone would just drop dead.
Categories: The Twenty-First Century