Regina, the once popular girl has to make new friends at her new, conservative school. Problems arrive when she becomes enemies with Lívia, the school's queen bee, and falls in love with ... See full summary »
Spring break in Miami is the scene. It's where surf-drenched guys cruise girls in bikinis and raucous parties rule day and night. It's the perfect time and place for three young women from Texas and a trio of college guys from Pennsylvania to find adventure and maybe even fall in love. In a Texas dive bar, Kelly is singing her heart out to a few local yokels when her best friends Kaya and Alexa try and tempt her away for some fun in the Florida sun. It's an easy sell--even for the cautious Kelly - and the three head for Miami. Making their way to the same destination is the "Pennsylvania Posse": college students Justin, Brandon, and Eddie. Justin and Brandon are smooth-talking party promoters, while Eddie's primed to meet Lizzie, the cyber dream girl he's been e-mailing for months. Miami Beach, beating with a rhythm all its own, is teeming with beautiful people. Kelly's friends are drawn into the beachside fun, while Kelly tentatively navigates a sea of strangers. When her eyes meet ...Written by
Sujit R. Varma
When Kelly gave Justin her phone number, she used an area code from Texas (972), which is where they are all from. But when Alexa later gave Justin a phone number for Kelly, she gave her own cell phone number. She used the area code 239, which is actually in Florida. See more »
Heck, yeah! I mean 'hell yeah', I say hell all the time! Hell, hell, hell... hell
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And I only watched the first 25 minutes. It is inconcievable to me that anyone could make a film this hopelessly, endlessly, mind-meltingly bad. This is not a bad movie - it's a war crime. Somehow the producers actually managed to cast supporting players bad enough to make Kelly Clarkson and even the talent free Justin Guarini seem good by comparsion.
The alleged "choreography" ammounts to nothing more than frantic flailing of limbs. Accents come and go with wild abandon. The songs are, to put it charitably, forgettable. I'm surprised "American Idol" judge Randy Jackson isn't credited as a writer, because the dialouge is that witless and badly phrased.
This is the worst thing humanity has ever done.
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