I Liveblogged 'Bring It On' Because I Hate Myself

Bring It On
Bring It On

Goddamn, I’m already excited about all the symmetry in this movie.

They really are everything I’m not. I swear I’m not a whore.

Is there just one stock ass-slapping sound that gets used in every movie ever? Why does it sound like a whip? What actual mechanism created that sound? I hope it was an actual juicy double. Getting whipped.

Alternate version of Bring It On for women: two hours of Kirsten Dunst’s face against a black background, staring out at you, asking evenly, “What would you look like in this cheerleading uniform?” over and over.

Alternate version of Bring It On for men: Kirsten Dunst’s ass against a black background, staring out at you, wordlessly asking, “Want to?”

I’m reasonably disappointed with myself for the gender stereotypes I just exercised. Deepest apologies, Girls-Who-Want-to-Fuck-Kiki-Dunst and Boys-Who-Like-to-Wear-Pleated-Skirts. I honestly find your sexual and sartorial choices to be valid. One can only liveblog through one’s own personal filters.

Naked dream! High school! Embarrassment!

Hollywood has taught me that all California high schools have only one dress code rule: No nip (except on Fridays.)

Things that are wrong about her boyfriend: 1) He calls her “Tor,” as if Torrence wasn’t bad enough. Neither of those are real names; 2) he looks like an over-botoxed Zach Morris if Zack Morris was a closeted gay cheerleader.

Idea: teeth that are candy-flavored uppers that you can bite off and swallow and new ones pop up in its place like Pez generated inside your gums.

Repeated unsteady attempts to build a pyramid. The first of MANY thinly veiled Illuminati references in this film.

You know he’s a bad boy because they pan up his body, feet to face, and you can hear his keys jangling when he walks into class late.

Wait. How did I never realize his last name was Pantone? I’ll be your color of the year, Jesse Bradford (ew, I know his name?)

Checking my work: when you google “Jesse Bradford,” the second most searched option is “Jesse Bradford feet.” Not brave enough to click it.

Too fat, fell off pyramid, got replaced.

My names for the people auditioning: “Clubfoot on Quaaludes,” “Turtleneck Tenor,” “Hip-Hop Lesbian,” “Teeny Kitaen,” “Whitney’s Ladyboy Sister,” “Hipless Power Bottom.”

“Cheertator” sounds like a potato snack sold at football games.

AMC will show a close-up shot of a baby’s balls on Mad Men, but changes the word “dykey” to “dorky” in this movie.

The short, torso-less cheerleader from the LA squad died recently in real life. I’m pretty sure. I could be wrong. I also thought Usher’s wife died the other day, but I was wrong about that. But I think that girl really is dead.

The “spirit stick that can’t touch the ground” is representative of the Quran, right?

Instances of sexual assault that have been laughed off by females thus far: three.

“I’m Jesse Bradford’s feet and I’m not interested in your childish sports. I only came to this football game to sit in the bleachers and read The Naked Ape to demonstrate how I’m better and more intellectual than you, in hopes of instilling enough self-doubt into the captain’s malleable teenage brain for her to have “I’m not as vapid as I think you think I am” sex with me.”

Instances where cheerleaders mime humping thus far: three.

Oops! Finger slipped! Super funny sexual assault number four.

They’re humping again. I guess I need to stop counting dismissals of sexual assault and humping, because this movie basically just switches between the two.

If my earlier tone implied that I wouldn’t fuck Jesse Bradford, that was the wrong tone.

Brushing your teeth = quickly thrusting a long, hard object in and out of your mouth repeatedly until your mouth fills with white, creamy stuff, which you then have to spit out.

I would hate on this fine film for the bikini carwash scene but I think it’s required. It’s in the Bible.


I mean, he’s right. They are all really fat.

I’m eating popcorn with olive oil instead of butter. I gave it a shot, and I regret it.

It’s predictable that this movie is about a shallow girl with a singular focus on cheerleading whose #cheerleaderproblems incite an existential awakening and the whole plot becomes a metaphor for #LIFE, but what’s not as predictable is that never happening. It’s really just about cheerleading.

The scenes of them performing full routines are like watching blossoming, fleshy kaleidoscopes. They’re mini meditation breaks, providing the stability of spirit to watch the rest of the movie. Salvation through symmetry.

I’m bothered that Torrence has a cut-out of just the word “HAIR” behind her cassette player.

Her cassette player? *Googling* THIS MOVIE IS FROM 2000, STOP FRONTIN’.

What, like you’ve never had a moment of clarity while headbanging with pom-poms on your bed, listening to the song the brother of your BFF wrote you and put on a tape?

I’m putting an upsetting amount of energy into not thinking about all the things I could be doing with this two hours instead of this. So much that it’s distracting me from the movie. So not only am I doing this waste of a thing, I’m not even doing it well. But that seems fitting, so I’m comforted now.

I wish I hadn’t eaten all that popcorn. To be clear, it’s because I now want more, not because I feel like it was an unhealthy decision, or that I’m gonna fall off a pyramid and lose all my friends or anything.

Essential parts of an overcoming high school obstacles montage: Changing how the rest of the school sees your rag-tag gang of outcasts; not just defeating the bitches who want to overthrow you, but getting them back on your side; looking to unexpected sources for inspiration; practicing super hard, you guys.

Even old musicals have humping! I don’t think I’ve mimed humping enough in my life.

So wait. Is this movie all about a bunch of white girls stealing from a bunch of black girls, and then giving them money, and we’re supposed to celebrate their personal growth?

Ugh, Gabrielle Union is like an alien from a planet where everyone is pretty and never ages. Or a unicorn.

Fake Oprah, making dreams come true!

I feel like I just missed something important while I was wondering how decomposed the body of that now-dead tiny cheerleader is now.

So many cheerleaders in one place. They have the anxious, impatient energy of suicide bombers. Alternate ending to every cheerleading routine: they all explode at the end, and the crowd gets soaked in bloody spirit spray.

Prolonged exposure to endorphin fueled hyper-athleticism is sending my brain to dark places. I’ve also stopped like four times to do crunches. I keep feeling to see if I have abs now.

Pssh, I could totally do that.

I wonder what direction the actors playing the judges got for their reaction shot to the East Compton routine: “Write on that paper HARD. With purpose. Like you really liked it.”

Okay, who wants to start a cheerleading squad with me? We’ll do the same routine from this movie, but instead of skirts, we’ll wear bodysuits that cover our faces and heads, and during our routine we’ll project the 1976 love song to public breakdowns and mass media criticism, Network, onto our moving bodies. We can call the performance NeTWERK.” Don’t look for any deep symbolism here. I just wanna work the word “twerk” into pretty much everything, and I think I’m Britney Spears in that one video every time I wear a body suit.

They keep cutting to the “fat” girl who fell off the pyramid. She’s in the crowd on crutches, awkwardly falling everywhere, while her teammates punch-dance their way to greatness. Find the lesson, ladies.

The white girls got 2nd place! They’re so excited! It’s totally good enough because they really worked hard and did it with integrity and didn’t steal! Deleted scene: all the girls cutting themselves in their hotel that night. TC Mark

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