If director Rick De Oliviera’s goal was to make a soulless film whose only purpose is to star beautiful, blonde people, he was very successful with “The Real Cancun.”
The film has so many characters, all of whom are shallow and self-absorbed in their very own special way, it’s impossible to keep track of them. This is made more difficult by the fact that most of them are blonde and tan and thus look exactly alike-even their personalities are so bland and dense that anyone watching the movie will not care about them.
Unless you too are blond and beautiful with the personality and intelligence of a dial tone. Then you will love this film.
We are introduced to a group of 20-somethings who have been picked to live in a house in Cancun, Mexico to be part of a “Real World” type of situation for a week. Among the walking Abercrombie & Fitch ads is Alan, a Texas boy who doesn’t drink, causing his new roommates to gasp in disbelief and secretly bet on who can get him to take his first tequila shot out of a complete stranger’s navel.
He feels alienated because not drinking sets him apart from his roommates, who, on the opposite spectrum, take part in wet T-shirt contests, make out with anyone as drunk and tan as them, and shower together.
Although he is not very deep and sensitive, he is a Shakespeare love sonnet compared to his roomies.
We watch his metamorphosis from an insecure gerbil who says, “I’m not living my life the way I would like to live it” into someone who wins a “wet bottom” contest because he makes an ass out of himself, literally. Watching this awkward transformation is painful, almost like watching someone lose their virginity. “Paradise City” plays in the background as Alan ventures into his own “Paradise Lost.”
Among the male roommates is Casey, a seeming stonerrific pervert who constantly asks girls to make out with him and wears a shirt asking “Got a sister” on it. Whereas Jeremy and Matt (it might be a tad easier to remember them as Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber) have the “F.B.I.: Female Body Inspector” shirts which means they must be real charmers. And then there’s Sky, the film’s token black girl, who incessantly refers to herself as a “mystery” and is miffed when roommate Paul doesn’t fall for her girly mind games and hooks up with another drunk, slutty beach girl.
These are the people I hated in high school and watching this film reminded me of why: They have no substance. Everyday is just another opportunity to get drunk, get laid, and have fun.
Perhaps I’m just bitter because not only am I not blonde and beautiful, but I spent my spring break cleaning and doing two weeks of math homework. And yet I feel it’s really because these characters are sad shells of actual people, whose limited intelligence is spent on themselves entirely. It’s like looking into the eyes of a dead fish-there’s nothing there. It makes us not care about the characters and the film that’s pushing them on us.
The only amusing part of the film was that apparently there are no actual Mexicans in Cancun, only beautiful bottle blondes, and I assume that was unintentional on the part of de Oliviera.
But perhaps I’m looking too deeply into a silly little film about spring break which goes nowhere in terms of a plot and uses equally annoying pop music in its soundtrack.
“The Real Cancun” is a party in which we have been cordially invited, and ultimately, which none of us want to crash.