For Kurt Kunkle (Joe Keery), the protagonist of {Spree}, the only kind of recognition is the kind that requires a social media presence. “You don’t exist,” he says of those who are not in the world of influencers, and one can imagine such a statement to include anyone who doesn’t post content specifically on the major (but, perhaps for budgetary purposes, unnamed) smartphone app that houses his channel, KurtsWorld96. It is impossible to discuss the plot of this film without thinking of the real-world counterparts to its premise, which follows Kurt for one insane day of senseless violence, and its setting, which is exclusively the cameras and screens that allow him to broadcast this day to the world. Art, after all, doesn’t exist in a vacuum.
We have all heard the horror stories of murders captured on such apps or, at the very least, committed because of perceived slights through their social functions (liking, commenting, what-have-you). We may very well have heard of some murderers specifically documenting their acts of violence, like the popular influencer killed by her stalker, who posed the nearly decapitated body for a photo he sent across her channels. Such stories are distressing, highlighting a toxic and frightening atmosphere of rageful but fragile masculinity. In a way, co-writer/director Eugene Kotlyarenko’s film is like an explosion of toxic masculinity, as Kurt seeks to set himself apart from other influencers for an elaborate scheme that makes less and less sense as it goes on and on.
It’s all very simple at first: Kurt wants attention, and he’s decided to use his current job, as a driver for the ride-sharing company of the title, to get it. His scam involves a drugged water bottle and any passenger he can possibly lure into the trap: the obnoxious spokesperson (Linas Phillips) for a racist organization, a businesswoman (Jessalyn Gilsig) closing some deals on her phone, a burly guy (John DeLuca) on his way to get laid, and a trio (Mischa Barton, Frankie Grande, and Lala Kent) on their way to a party. Meanwhile, he avoids calls from his loser of a dad Kris (David Arquette) and is egged on by fellow influencer and best friend Bobby (Joshua Ovalle). As the body count rises, the hackles are also raised for the movie’s audience, wondering where this is going and what point is being made.
The point might seem obvious: Kurt’s obsession with fame has gotten him to the point of wanting to commit murder for the thrill of getting followers. That’s a simple enough point to make, especially in this time of people’s increased dependency on the inherently distancing nature of social media engagement and interaction. Kotlyarenko and co-screenwriter Gene McHugh unfortunately complicate that point by making Kurt overtly aware of the danger he himself poses for the communities in Los Angeles immediately surrounding him. Keery’s performance is committed to the schizophrenic tonal disarray on display here, but Kurt is frustratingly inconsistent as a character who is obsessed with online fame but only engages it when the script deems it necessary.
The screenwriters also treat us to a subplot involving Jessie Adams (Sasheer Zamata), another social media star and stand-up comic with her own set of problems, which are exacerbated when she stumbles into the vicinity of Kurt and his mission. This leads the movie into self-destruct mode, as a violent third act sets in (leading one to question the practicality of the storytelling gimmick) and the whole affair leads to an epilogue that suggests the natural extension of the obvious point: the road to find fame is pockmarked with bad choices, and it just leads to a vicious cycle of obsession and violence. There is a thoughtful examination to be conducted on the role of social media in such things, but {Spree} is far too busy turning it into a disquieting spectacle.
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