Misunderstood Masterpieces: The Real Cancun
Posted by Will Helm on 08.17.2004
…or, What Happens When People Stop Being Polite…
. . . and start getting annoying.
Back in 1992, MTV had a little experiment. They chose seven people, set them up to live in a loft, and they only catch was that they had to have their lives taped. The motive for the show was to see what happens when people stop being polite – losing the “hi, we just met and I don’t want to offend you” facades – and start getting “real.” The name of this sociological study/television hit was, unsurprisingly and uncreatively, The Real World. The first series featured a token collection of seven Generation-X stereotypes: the naïve farm girl, the goofy folkie, the brooding rocker, the prettyboy, the urban chick, the upwardly mobile black man, and the hilarious homosexual, all living in a fairly fancy New York loft. It was slightly unrealistic, but not totally unbelievable. As with nearly anything MTV created during this time period, it was a smash hit and more seasons were to follow. Unlike the simplicity of the original season, however, each successive year brought more and more melodrama. There was the sacking of David, the cruel fate of Pedro, the unrequited romance of Neil and Kat, the unequaled clique-ishness of the Miami cast, the slow corruption of Elka, finally culminating in the mind-numbing amorality of the Las Vegas edition of the show. One thing was certain, throughout it all: the wilder the cast, the higher the ratings.
With this dictum in mind, someone at Bunim/Murray – the masterminds behind the series – with a little money to burn must have decided to bring the The Real World franchise to the big screen. And, since kids getting crazy equals ratings, someone along the line decided that this big screen version of the program should take place at the wildest place on earth: Spring Break . . . Cancun, Mexico, specifically. So, with the great fanfare of the MTV franchise’s name-recognition behind it, came 2003’s The Real Cancun to stretch the bounds of the documentary genre to new limits. “Directed” by Rick de Oliveira and “written” by Brian Caldirola, The Real . . . wait a second. “Written by.” There’s actually a writing credit? On a “documentary”? Very strange . . . very conspiratorial. Anyway, The Real Cancun introduces us to sixteen(!) American youths out to bare and sully their souls on the beaches and in the clubs of a Mexican party town. How does the MTV-inspired film fare when expanded and uncensored? You be the judge . . .
The film begins – after nearly a half an hour of production company title cards – by introducing us to our dramatis personae for the picture, and I feel it is appropriate to follow suit. So, for your viewing pleasure, we have:
Jeremy: the egotistical stud,
Roxanne and Nicole: two prudish-but-not twins who look disconcertingly like this guy,
David and Heidi: completely heterosexual yet uninvolved “bestest” buddies,
Casey: the dippy “surfer dude” male model,
Laura: the self-described “naughty” Midwestern waitress,
Alan: the teetotaling dork,
Sky: the sassy black chick,
Sarah: the wannabe slut – who has a boyfriend,
Matt: the insecure playa,
And Jorell and Paul: two black men who keep it real. Real like the next sight we see: Jorell’s blubbery physique bedecked in a Speedo and nothing else. It’s going to be one of those movies, isn’t it?
(OK . . . I know that isn’t sixteen people, but that’s all the introductions present. I guess they’re our “main characters.”)
After the brief introductions, the film cuts right to the opening credits, the appearance of which leads me to believe that Spring Break is unbelievably well produced. Right on the Cancun beachside, our annoying teens and twenty-somethings meet for the first time; instantaneously, they all start rattling off their various and sundry individual relations. It’s here that we learn that Laura and Sarah are pretty much the same person and – thus – interchangeable and that there’s absolutely nothing going on between David and Heidi. Nope . . . no sir. Meanwhile, in the kitchen, some dorky guy – who may or may not be Alan – looks through the shelves and drawers while drinking a mystery substance from a can. It can’t be beer, though . . . Alan’s never had anything to drink before. Remember this fact for future reference.
Speaking of Alan, during the initial introductions, we discover that no one in the house seems to like him. I guess being an abstemious, virginal wimp makes you a bit unpopular with the “in” crowd. David, a.k.a. “the whiny guy,” reveals that he has a guitar . . . oh, please do not sing . . . and some well-endowed chick, who may be Sarah or Laura or someone else, arrives on the scene. In one bedroom, Jorell and Paul goof around, which means that they’re probably the minstrel-inspired comic relief for the picture. Later, they take a trip to the bathroom and make fun of the bidet; down by the pool, they call that area what it rightfully is: the house’s own “Playboy Grotto,” where booty-knocking will be at a maximum. Some time afterward, Paul takes a very painful shot of tequila and then he and his buddy do some tag-team flirting on Sky. We’ll have to wait to see how this develops, however.
Meanwhile, inside the house, the dork clique – Alan, the whiny guy, and Heidi (a.k.a. the pale chick) . . . as well as some other folk – bonds while the drinking continues unabated. After a while, the unrealistic “tour guides” – your villains for the picture – arrive and introduce themselves. They’re taking the whole group to one of the “hottest clubs” in Cancun, which allows Casey to hit on some pale chick . . . who isn’t Heidi . . . and then take a shower. Honestly, after watching Casey’s annoying “surfer dude” antics, I never knew Jeff Spicoli could be such a lasting role model. Aloha, Mr. Hand. Outside the house, the dorks gel together yet more and Alan, like a twelve-year-old, loudly exclaims that he wants boobies. Hmm . . . hopefully he wants to see them, not actually to have them. There’s a big difference there. Meanwhile, back inside the house, Casey annoys more of the roommates with his Sean Penn-flavored routine.
Once on the road to the club, some guy lectures Alan regarding his non-drinking ways; you just know that they’re setting up this neophyte to be the resident party-pooper. Perhaps I speak too quickly, though, as a sinister plot is hatched which will end with . . . Alan drinking! Sky, since she’s sassy, proposes a bet and I wonder whether or not this movie has turned into My Fair Alan. At the club, Sky, conniving individual that she is, dances seductively with young Alan, all the while mocking him with her feigned interest. This becomes an important plot point later . . . although, should documentaries even HAVE plot points? After watching people dance badly for a few minutes, the body shots break out! OK . . . can anyone truly explain the allure of the body shot? I mean, how good can any liquor taste when mixed with sweat, body lotion, body glitter, sunscreen, and various other adulterants? Perhaps that’s the reason for the lime at the end.
The next morning, Jorell snores peacefully until a random mariachi band wakes everyone in the house. It seems that the evil tour guides sent the roving musicians, so they are they ones to be punished . . . severely. Later, over breakfast, the hookup stories start as Sky and Paul question Laura about her Wisconsin roots; afterward, Paul and Sky flirt shamelessly during a game of billiards. Elsewhere, the whiny guy explains the situation between him and his consumptive-looking anti-girlfriend. What’s an “anti-girlfriend”? Well, it’s the fairly common female entity that some guys become committed to for no reason, preventing them from meeting other, far more interested people. Fear the anti-girlfriend, dear readers . . . they can and will swallow your soul. Anyway, the whiny guy states that he knows, in his heart of hearts, that any relationship with Heidi is doomed to fail due to their prospective college destinations – Massachusetts and California specifically. Throughout his entire elocution, however, you just that in the back of his mind he’s thinking “HELL YEAH I totally want to tap that!”
After a time killing musical montage – time to sell the soundtrack . . . it is MTV, after all, Alan describes his standing with the ladies to Jorell and Paul, who are actually sincerely sympathetic to his plight. I guess these three gentlemen shall be your heroes for this picture. Later, at some beachside club, it’s wet T-shirt time! Oh yeah . . . MTV Gone Wild. Joe Franklin would be proud. Unfortunately, killing any of the erotic appeal of the goings-on, the festivities are hosted by two annoying DJ’s. Ugh. At least it’s better than “grope guy,” though. You know “grope guy.” Just watch any Girls Gone Wild release; he’s the gent who feels the need to grab any exposed breast in an arm’s-length radius. I’m sure you’ve seen him . . . you may actually be him. In that case: KNOCK IT OFF! Alan, since he has the maturity of a hormone-raging junior high student, freaks out while we are treated to our quota of nudity for the film. Much to my surprise, the freaky prudish twins join in on the action, getting wet and topless for our amusement. This, of course, leads to Alan and the whiny guy freaking out further. The crowd entreats the twins to leave their tops off but, at the end of it, we never learn who won! What a rip-off!
Later, at yet another club (is that all Spring Break is?), Alan requests exposed breasts . . . and a random drunk chick actually grants his wish! Meanwhile, Casey goes bungee jumping with a couple of the other ladies from the house. After his jump, either Laura or Sarah prepares to take the plunge; unbeknownst to her, a menacing jellyfish lurks below the surface. She dives and, unsurprisingly – since the character of the jellyfish was helpfully introduced moments earlier – she gets stung. The first aid workers arrive on the scene moments – or hours . . . time is sketchy in this flick – later, but the only cure for a jellyfish bite, according to our helpful medical friends, is fresh urine. Matt, since he hasn’t done anything of note in this picture so far, pees into a cup and romantically pours his fresh bladder juice on Laura/Sarah’s knee. I’d wager that in some cultures that means that they’re married. That might not be so far from the truth as, sometime later, Peeboy and Jellyfish-girl have a little chat on their house’s balcony. Let it be said that dousing someone’s leg with urine is one of the most creative opening lines in history. Sadly, through the power of conversation, we discover that Peeboy is an utterly superficial spoiled prettyboy, but you just know that Jellyfish-girl is totally crushing on him. It’s so like a letter to YM.
Dear YM,
I was on Spring Break and I was so like into this guy. I got stung by a jellyfish and he poured his fresh urine on my leg. He’s a prick, but I think I’m in love. What should I do?
My answer would be to take a shower.
That evening, Alan calls up some cute chick he met on the beach that day, but she hangs up on him. Luckily for him, Jorell and Paul are on hand to provide moral support. Moments later, the dastardly tour guides take the drunks to yet another club . . . which segues to the next day? Huh? Anyway, today actually has a theme: fun with animals. There are horses and dolphins and much cavorting and gamboling. Unsurprisingly, since college can be a lot like high school, the “dork squad” sticks together throughout the ordeal. Elsewhere, Sky calls out Paul due to his noticeably lingering eyes. Meanwhile, Alan vents his sexual frustrations to some chick that I don’t recognize. She’s a brunette, if that helps. Back with Sky and Paul, they somehow start discussing the subject of sex, which leads to the shocking revelation that Sky does not like to go downtown. Simultaneously, Jorell confesses that Sky is into one of the housemates . . . and it’s Jeremy! One problem, though: Jeremy already has a girlfriend. Uh-oh. While all of this is going on at the house, Jellyfish-girl plays with a big bird, keeping with the theme for the day. And then we have another musical montage.
After the interlude, one of the twins talks with some blonde that I don’t recognize. Elsewhere, Alan and Jorell break down the couplings going on within the house; they might be on the outside looking in, but at least they have each other. Alan, immature as he is, just wants to break loose from his prudish bindings and Jorell is supportive of his desires. You know, Jorell’s such a nice guy through all this; it’s a shame he has to stand in as the “hilarious minority” character. He’s not just a stereotype, people! Although you have to admit it’s sad when you’re typecast in a documentary. Anyway, a bunch of the girls in the house gather together just to play “who’s still a virgin!” No word on if that’s being released by Parker Brothers anytime soon. For no particular reason, Casey and the whiny guy are there. Casey, astute male model that he is, makes note of the unrequited attraction between whiny guy and pale chick.
In another room of the house, Sky and Paul bond and she shares some hearsay regarding the size of his member. Hmm . . . more than I needed to know, honestly. Paul, sensing an opening (pun DEFINITELY intended), inquires as to Sky’s personal preferences. She reveals, unsurprisingly, that she’s a size queen. Whoa . . . you don’t say! Meanwhile, Jeremy, since HE hasn’t done anything of note in this picture, takes Sarah/Laura/Jellyfish-girl (any of the three . . . they’re all blondes that kind of look the same) into his room and we’re treated to a little of the ol’ in-and-out via Nightvision.
In the aftermath of the late-night coitus, the next day there’s TENSION – and body shots. Surprisingly, who should be the (Devil’s) advocates for said body shots but the returning diabolical tour guides. You know, if this were the Middle Ages, those two guys would be hell-born imps leading all these kind folk to corruption and sin. Now, they’re just two young guys with a pretty cool job. What a difference a millennium makes. Although, supporting my previous conjecture, the devilish tour guides lead the rest of the group in convincing Alan to drink. Ah . . . let the foul corruption begin! Next: hellfire and brimstone. At least that would shut immature Alan up; instead, we still are treated to the dulcet tones of him prattling on about “boobies.” To quell his sexually fueled rage, he indulges in a body shot, after which pale chick comforts him.
Speaking of pale chick, she calls her mom and gives a sorrowful report on the rampant amorality going on around her. Her mom, just as most moms do, lectures her. Geez . . . not even a “Hey! How are you?” How rude! Out in the pool, Sky and Paul cavort teasingly, while Jorell looks on. Honestly, in any other universe, this would turn into a porno. You just know it. Everything’s progressing swimmingly until Sky, for no reason whatsoever, bugs out posthaste. Later, as a study into Sky’s warped morals, she questions Jeremy as to what – or who – he did the night prior. What makes this scene overwhelmingly pathetic is that Laura is sitting within earshot of the conversation! Of course, we all can see that the inquisition is a ruse, because Sky just wants some sweet Jeremy lovin’. Meanwhile, some goofy brunette – the one from before that they never introduced – giggles by the pool while Sarah/Laura/Jellyfish-girl gets sad about something. OK . . . it’s so hard to get this all straight. I’m not sure about it, but I think that Sarah and Jeremy hooked up and Laura has a thing for Peeboy, which makes her one in the same with Jellyfish-girl. I could be wrong, though. Note to MTV: next time, fewer blondes or more distinguishing features.
Later, Jeremy, Peeboy, Alan, and Paul chat in a bedroom. Paul, since he’s a minority, provides comic relief while Alan confesses that he really wants to bust out some anal on a chick. Hmm . . . Alan . . . anal . . . hey! It’s an anagram! Makes sense now, doesn’t it? That evening, at YET ANOTHER club, Alan partakes of more alcohol and then drunkenly flirts with Jellyfish-girl. Or at least I think it’s her. Let’s assume it is for the sake of argument. Jeremy, unsurprisingly, makes out with some chick while Peeboy and Jellyfish-girl converse on a dock somewhere. Since he’s looking for a proper opening, he lectures her regarding her boyfriend back home. Jeremy, since he’s that way, brings some chick back to the house, but Sarah busts into the festivities and freaks out. Oh yeah . . . more TENSION! Paul, who now isn’t just comic relief, procures a condom from his buddy Jorell, because PAUL’S GETTING LUCKY TONIGHT! Let’s hope he, like all nice guys, finishes last. All of this canoodling leads to a montage of Jeremy tapping it, Sarah brooding, Sky frolicking on the beach, and Paul thrusting masculinely. Yes, it’s more Nightvision porno action from these crazy kids. Yippee.
While all of this wild action is going on inside, Alan drinks on a swing. “Natalie” – or one of the twins – attempts to get him to join her and some folks in the ocean; she persuades him forcefully by dragging his drunken carcass out to the briny sea. Sadly, he frees himself from her grasp and escapes to the safety and comfort of his bedroom. Elsewhere, some chick and some guy who’s chewing tobacco talk about hooking up . . . with other people. So confusing! The next day, Jeremy, Casey, and Peeboy brag about their conquests while working out in the gym. During his bench-press routine, Jeremy confides that he hooked up with Laura. Wait a minute . . . I thought he was with Sarah! So does that mean that Sarah is actually Jellyfish-girl? Damn you, movie.
On the beach, Sky calls out Paul for his performance the night before. Suddenly, and without warning, she’s a prude and she starts lecturing Paul about the dangers of promiscuity. Jorell, as he always does, looks on. Of course, the astute viewer – like Jorell – knows exactly what’s going on: Paul played Sky and she’s not at all happy about it. Jorell, who knows just how to keep it real, breaks down the situation and cuts Sky down. You tell her, dog! Randy Jackson would be proud. Back in the house, whiny guy strums his guitar and sings for the pale chick; I hate to say it, but he’s REALLY annoying. Part of me wishes that she would hook up with Alan just to spite him. Sadly, she just sings along . . . while I resist the urge to scream “Just get it on already!” at the screen. She confesses that she’s jealous of everyone else’s drinking and then, later, she and Alan have a heart-to-heart about the subject of heartbreak. Hmm . . . maybe this is Alan’s one and only chance to TAP IT! Come on, Alan; I know you can do it. You can do it all night long. Umm . . . why am I quoting The Waterboy? Weird. Sorry about that. Instead of more Nightvision porno action, they just blather on and on. Ugh.
The next day, one of the freaky twins tells Alan that the ladies are all secretly into him. Which ladies? It’s a secret, of course. Although this whole exchange gets my Spidey-sense tingling wildly; I have the sneaking suspicion this is all a setup for a terrible – and perhaps deadly – prank. Perhaps not, though, as, for no reason in particular, there’s a party at the house . . . and it’d be funny if Alan wasn’t invited. Of course, everything’s cool once he does another body shot . . . while a creepy, pudgy, middle-aged guy cackles in the pool next to him. While Alan imbibes uncontrollably, Casey flirts with some chick. As part of the soiree, the organizers throw a little “hot body” contest . . . but all the contestants are scantly clad guys. Ugh. I guess that’s for the ladies in the audience. Alan, since it’s probably been edited that way, goes last; he gives a sad performance, but seemingly wins?!? Now I think he’s really being set up. Either that or you have to allow yourself to be corrupted to truly win people over. Alan, bolstered by the awesome power of his “hot body,” transforms into Superplaya, as the twins cheer him on.
Later, as Alan celebrates his succession to King Stud, Paul tries to work his black magic on Sky in one of the bedrooms. Can’t a man get some lovin’ from the psycho chick he’s been hitting on all week? Really . . . what’s this world coming to? Elsewhere, Casey and pale chick plan on partying, so they all end up at a Simple Plan show. Although, for some weird reason, the band sounds as if they introduce themselves as MXPX; it doesn’t matter, though, as nothing says “Spring Break” like punk rock. After the concert, pale chick attempts to play matchmaker for Alan while Paul tries to get a piece of Sky. That night, increasing the useless cameo count for the day to two, it’s a Snoop Dogg concert on the beach. He dedicates a song for the ladies, so Sky joins him on stage with some other random chicks. In a startling note, they all start having seizures in time with the music. Oh, wait . . . they’re just dancing. Oops.
After the performance, I begin to wonder if this is over yet, as the film seems to have been going on forever. Luckily for me, they must be close, as the background music is mournful. Of course, that could all be foreshadowing for what lies ahead, as Peeboy and some chick end up fooling around together, much to Jellyfish-girl’s chagrin. Fueled by TENSION and rage, she busts into the bathroom and breaks them up. Meanwhile, Alan and some foreign HOT CHICK get together. Inside the house, Jellyfish-girl freaks out because she wasn’t on the receiving end of some Peeboy lovin’. Outside, Alan bonds with his newfound object of infatuation. At some random club, whiny guy and pale chick dance VERY closely and then FINALLY make out. Damn that was a long time coming . . . no pun intended. In the house, Peeboy tries to apologize to Jellyfish-girl for his transgression, but he ends up going into total ‘roid rage mode instead.
Now, here’s where things get really weird. Casey, who’s been absent for the past half hour or so, returns to calm down Peeboy. You know, I never would have though he could be the conscience of the house. Then, Casey goes a step farther, comforting Jellyfish-girl while Peeboy freaks out. Jeremy, as per his particular idiom, hooks up again, while, as a counterpoint, Julia the foreign HOT CHICK gives Alan a Celtic bracelet. In one of the bedrooms, Paul finally gets some Sky lovin’ . . . or does he? My Magic 8-Ball said “Answer unclear. Come back later.” I came back later and all it said was “Damn this is one confusing movie.” Alan and Julia, their young and innocent romance blossoming, go swimming in the ocean . . . which takes us to the final day in Cancun. During the packing up, regrets abound, save for Alan and the whiny guy. Nearly everyone says their goodbyes – but Jellyfish-girl ain’t having none of Peeboy – and we’re off to the sad, sorrowful credits . . . with uproarious outtakes!
To be honest, there’s a reason why the television version of The Real World was so successful compared to its cinematic bastard child: the series was made up of half-hour episodes and there were only seven or so people involved. In the case of The Real Cancun, too much is definitely a bad thing. For starters, there’s just too much movie; ninety minutes of “reality” is just too much to bear sometimes, documentary format be damned. Plus, you can’t really call it reality if it’s a bunch of annoying youths set up in a hotel none of them could ever afford doing things none of them would ever have the opportunity to do. And speaking of those youths, our “characters” for the film, there’s just too many of them. It doesn’t help that all of the blondes, save Heidi – the pale chick, look about the same. I can’t blame someone if they get confused as to whom they hooked up with. In addition, only a handful of the “characters” are at all likeable . . . and one of them, Julia – Alan’s squeeze at the end, isn’t even a regular! All I can say is this: I weep for the future of America.
Join me next week as I have some fun with the column’s official mascot in one of the worst films ever. Oh . . . and it has a guest appearance by Tupac!
