‘I wanted to be one of them’: why Bring It On is my feelgood movie

8 hours ago 5

The opening sequence of Bring It On is – in a word – unapologetic. A dozen cheerleaders scream “I’m sexy, I’m cute, I’m popular to boot” in synchronicity – and I have yet to meet anyone (and I have tried) who has the willpower to look away.

It’s certainly not an exaggeration to say I wanted to be one of them – that is, one of the Toros, Rancho Carne high school’s premier cheer squad. But, as a six-year-old watching in north London, I was a world away from the cornucopia of herkies, suggestive dance moves and hair flips of competitive cheerleading in San Diego.

For the uninitiated (and those who have yet to watch me watch them enjoy this gift of a film), the Toros are the reigning champions of the high school cheer world, with five national championships under their belt, ready to clinch a sixth. Their outgoing captain, the unrelentingly cruel and self-satisfied “Big Red”, passes the baton to Torrance (Kirsten Dunst), the bright-eyed, callow but obsessive new leader whose ambitious plans include recruiting the jaded new girl and disenchanted former gymnast, Missy (Eliza Dushku).

But as a city transplant, skeptical of the San Diego suburbs’ burdensome pep, Missy quickly recognizes her new team’s performance for what it is: a ripped-off, whitewashed version of an all-Black squad’s routine: the East Compton Clovers. Their captain, Isis (played by Gabrielle Union), tells Torrance that her predecessor has been flagrantly stealing their moves for years. “I know you didn’t think a white girl made that shit up,” Isis scolds the Toros. The Clovers are done taking it lying down and plan to win big at nationals, while exposing the Toros as hacks.

Shell-shocked that their victories are just rewards for plagiarism, Torrance leads her squad through a cheer intervention in an attempt to learn a truly original routine. She finds an ally in Missy, a love interest for her brother Cliff (early aughts mainstay Jesse Bradford), and challenges her team to lose their noxious attitudes. But the real balm of this movie is that our protagonists aren’t rewarded in the slightest. In fact, the Toros lose outright. No hero’s journey, no relief for trying to do the right thing, no actual sense that they’re the good guys. In fact, every time we see the Clovers perform they shine brighter than the Toros.

The movie was, in many ways, the first of its kind. It was one of the few films during a rush of teen comedies that spanned from the late 90s to the mid-2000s to actually spotlight cheerleading, while also poking fun at its self-seriousness and apparent vapidity. But it also used the sport as a way to talk about cultural appropriation long before it became common parlance in long reads and college seminars.

This may be where Dunst shines brightest in the film: she’s the epitome of a young guilty white woman, always “trying to do the right thing”, but often appearing tone-deaf. When she gets wind that the Clovers might not be able to afford to travel to Florida to compete in the final tournament, she insists that her father’s company sponsor them to ensure they have a chance to compete. Isis rejects the offer, tearing up the check in her face, and assuring Torrance that her squad doesn’t need her “guilt money”. Instead, in a perfectly trite moment in Jessica Bendinger’s otherwise slick script, Isis tells the Toros to “bring it” and not to “slack off” because they might feel guilty for the Clovers. “That way, when we beat you, we’ll know it’s because we’re better,” she says. Released in 2000, in the post-Clueless deluge of movies set in high schools that routinely offered a win for their blond leading ladies, the movie still feels transgressive. For Torrance and her team, second place is what they deserve, and it’s what they get.

In my frequent rewatches, I’m reminded that the supporting characters offer some of the film’s best performances. Dushku’s quick wit and chronic sarcasm remind you she was woefully undercast throughout her career, while Union sheds the sidekick typecast she endured for earlier performances, commanding each scene as the captain who’s ready to make an example of the team that’s been profiting off her routines. It’s all the more powerful considering this is more than a decade before a social media callout would become a tool for holding people accountable for stealing Black creatives’ work.

While there have been several absurd direct-to-video sequels that haven’t captured a modicum of the original film’s camp or audacity, mercifully there aren’t any plans for an actual reboot. There doesn’t seem to be any need to imagine what Torrance is up to now, whether she’s coaching a squad herself, or whether the Clovers won another championship. I’m happy for the story to end the way it does in the movie – with the cast lip-syncing to a cover version of Mickey by Toni Basil as the credits roll.