Twelve Movie Review – Drugs won’t help

An unconnected movie about unconnected lives.

In my never-ending quest to find obscure movie of our times, I‘ve come across Twelve, directed by Joel Schumacher. You know, The Guy who almost gave us the bad end of Batman franchise but kind of redeemed himself in my eyes with Phone Booth.

Well, this guy did it again. And guess what…the editor didn’t even come close to his first cut and we already listened to the voice of Kiefer Sutherland, narrating what we already plainly could see on the silver screen. Normally that’s not a good sign and as I turned out, my prediction about voice over narration indeed was spot on (again).

Twelve mainly tells the story of White Mike, and some upper class students, back from their elite schools for spring break. White Mike sells drugs, the students consume them. And so some self-absorbed drama ensues. Of course, White Mike also gets his share.

You know what? Let’s me get to the point: Twelve is a movie about a bunch of spoiled, self-absorbed brats, having so many plots and subplots I already lost count in the first half.

Seriously, I don’t know if it’s the original novel or the sloppy scriptwriting, but the movie is one epic sized mess of way too many characters and subplots, out of which many subplots even don’t get resolved. The characters come and go in wonderful photographed visuals faster than you can watch, so nothing and nobody gets truly fleshed out. The result is not only a big mess but also boring. The only subplot I found passable was the one about Claude, an addict who goes completely nuts at the end of Twelve.

The wonderful icing on this massively messed up cake is the fact that the whole stuff even starts to get totally absurd and surreal on many occasions. For example, when we learn that White Mike constantly thinks of his dead mother and loves to stand on rooftops while thinking about how bad and sad the world is. Or when a normal sportive guy goes off to buy some drugs because some chick told him that’s normal. Or when a normal sportive guy succeeds immediately to buy some drugs – although he’s a total newbie at that. Or when a girl transforms from teddy-hugging Miss Perfect to a drug addicted whore in a matter of one single day. Or when seemingly everybody and anybody only want a big hug from their parents.


Something must have gone terribly wrong in the preproduction process as seemingly nobody cross-read the script. Or is it some “independent movie” thingy I don’t get?

Anyway, do yourself a favor: avoid Twelve like the plague. I already lost 200 minutes of my life: 90 minutes of watching that movie and 110 minutes of thinking about how to sue the whole bunch to get my lifetime back…Do you know if Stephen Hawking can do something about this whole ‘time’ and ’dimension’ stuff?

You don't have to bother.
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