[H]armony Korine’s weird and sometimes discomforting impressions of burgeoning sexuality, the American working class and Chloë Sevigny has dominated underground film culture since the mid-90s. Korine’s name (much like Larry Clarke) has become short-hand for controversy, partially in thanks to his part in writing the seminal 90s flick Kids, but also to the strange and meandering path his career took following his breakthrough script. A arbiter of vaudeville, VHS and teen tragedy, Korine has been harnessed by Supreme, Dior, Die Antwoord and most recently Rihanna to collaborate on his inimitable visual style.
In 2012 he stepped out of his lane by directing Spring Breakers, a crime-action-teen-drama with James Franco and Selena Gomez. For the first time since Kids, Korine’s galvanising visuals permeated the mainstream, as ever it divided audiences and critics alike. In the same vein as Gaspar Noe, and Lars Von Trier, Korine is a true auteur and concepts as benign as “narrative” or “plot” tend to fall by the wayside. His films are experienced like series of images that essentially flip the brain off switch for you. You don’t really watch a Harmony Korine film as you do stare at it, slack-jawed and pacified by one man’s vision of enduring abnormality.