Twelve (2010)

Twelve is Joel Schumacher in glossy, propulsive mode, turning the Upper East Side into a neon-lit pressure cooker where privilege doesn’t protect anyone—it just makes the fall faster. The movie’s special kick is how it blends a sleek, giddy energy with real melancholy, following White Mike as his once-carefree world tightens into a knot of grief, temptation, and bad choices that feel inevitable. It’s fun in that dark, tabloid-thriller way: quick scenes, sharp vibes, and a sense that every party has an edge you shouldn’t ignore. Fair warning, it’s not for everyone—there’s heavy teen drinking, drugs, and sexual content—but if you’re in the mood for a stylish cautionary tale that moves like a crime story and stings like a drama, it’s an easy watch to get swept up in.

Twelve wants to be a glossy, cautionary thriller about privileged teens spiraling into drugs, violence, and consequences, with Joel Schumacher aiming for a frenetic, tabloid-energy snapshot of the Upper East Side. The problem is it plays like it’s trying very hard to seem profound while leaning on clichés, thin character work, and a stuffed-to-bursting plot that mistakes chaos for intensity. If you’re hoping for a grounded crime drama or anything emotionally honest about grief and addiction, this can feel tone-deaf and strangely empty beneath the designer sheen. Still, if you can tolerate a lot of style-over-substance and just want a fast, trashy, occasionally tense ride with a few decent performances, you might find it watchable in a guilty-pleasure way.