The Bling Ring works best as a time capsule of the early 2010s—a pre-“influencer” era when fame felt both impossible and just a burglar’s crawl away. It’s not thrilling, and it’s not emotionally wrenching. It’s a glittering, hollow mirror held up to a glittering, hollow culture.
Also, the second half drags once the police get involved. The courtroom scenes feel rushed and oddly comedic, as if Coppola lost interest the moment the stealing stopped. The Bling Ring
Coppola films the robberies with a strange, hypnotic rhythm. The teens crawl through doggy doors, rifle through jewelry boxes, and pose for selfies in their victims’ mirrors. The most famous scene has Emma Watson’s Nikki—a hilariously deadpan Valley girl—trying on Lindsay Lohan’s dresses and whispering, “I feel like we’re just, like, living in a dream world.” The Bling Ring works best as a time
The film opens with a key sequence: our narrator, Marc (Israel Broussard), watches a home video of Paris Hilton’s closet—a cavernous, pink-carpeted cathedral of heels, bags, and dresses. The teens don’t break in with ski masks and crowbars. They Google celebrity addresses, check Twitter to see who’s out of town, and simply walk through unlocked doors. Also, the second half drags once the police get involved
You’ll walk away disgusted by the teens, disturbed by celebrity worship, and oddly desperate to organize your own closet.
Yes, that Emma Watson. Fresh off Harry Potter , she delivers her most divisive performance as Nicki, a vapid, aspiring reality star who speaks in self-help platitudes ( “I want to live in the now, and be, like, totally mindful.” ). Her American accent wobbles, her posture is rigid, and her lines are delivered with a bizarre, staccato rhythm. Is it bad acting? Or brilliant parody of a girl who has no inner life? I lean toward the latter. Watson is genuinely hilarious and frightening in her shallowness.
The Bling Ring works best as a time capsule of the early 2010s—a pre-“influencer” era when fame felt both impossible and just a burglar’s crawl away. It’s not thrilling, and it’s not emotionally wrenching. It’s a glittering, hollow mirror held up to a glittering, hollow culture.
Also, the second half drags once the police get involved. The courtroom scenes feel rushed and oddly comedic, as if Coppola lost interest the moment the stealing stopped.
Coppola films the robberies with a strange, hypnotic rhythm. The teens crawl through doggy doors, rifle through jewelry boxes, and pose for selfies in their victims’ mirrors. The most famous scene has Emma Watson’s Nikki—a hilariously deadpan Valley girl—trying on Lindsay Lohan’s dresses and whispering, “I feel like we’re just, like, living in a dream world.”
The film opens with a key sequence: our narrator, Marc (Israel Broussard), watches a home video of Paris Hilton’s closet—a cavernous, pink-carpeted cathedral of heels, bags, and dresses. The teens don’t break in with ski masks and crowbars. They Google celebrity addresses, check Twitter to see who’s out of town, and simply walk through unlocked doors.
You’ll walk away disgusted by the teens, disturbed by celebrity worship, and oddly desperate to organize your own closet.
Yes, that Emma Watson. Fresh off Harry Potter , she delivers her most divisive performance as Nicki, a vapid, aspiring reality star who speaks in self-help platitudes ( “I want to live in the now, and be, like, totally mindful.” ). Her American accent wobbles, her posture is rigid, and her lines are delivered with a bizarre, staccato rhythm. Is it bad acting? Or brilliant parody of a girl who has no inner life? I lean toward the latter. Watson is genuinely hilarious and frightening in her shallowness.