Yes, cheerleading: that perky, peppy, rah-rah extracurricular activity that is fashionable for the hip, or those aspiring to be hip, to hate. Who'd have thought that competitive cheerleading – not what you see on the sidelines of a game (that's rehearsal for the main event) but rigorously scored, cutthroat national contests involving gymnastic athleticism, hot dance moves and high school girls in short skirts – could be so darn thrilling?

And have I mentioned that the film is funny? Not tee-hee, oh-how-droll funny but bwa-ha-HA, I-just-blew-Sprite-through-my-nostrils funny. The tart, taut script by first-time screenwriter Jessica Bendinger is stuffed with such deliciously mean dialogue as this acidic exchange between a disgruntled cheerleader and Sparky Polastri (catty cut-up Ian Roberts), a hired-gun choreographer recruited at the last minute to whip the Rancho Carne High School pep squad into shape: Whiny cheerleader: "Why does everybody have to go on a diet?" Sparky (with that duh look on his face): "Because we're cheerleaders. We throw people in the air. And fat people don't go as high."

Or this Sparkified bon mot to another, er, callipygian (look it up) team member: "Nice overall physique. Now report that compliment to your [derriere] before it gets so big it forms its own Web site."

The plot is fairly simple: When lily-white, suburban California pep squad captain Torrance (likable Kirsten Dunst) discovers that her five-time national champion team's routines were unwittingly ripped off from the East Compton Clovers, a bumpin' black squad from inner-city L.A. led by Isis (regal Gabrielle Union), Torrance has to scramble to come up with a fresh set of killer moves in the weeks before the national finals. Against this beat-the-clock backdrop, our button-nosed heroine meets and begins to fall for cute Cliff (Jesse Bradford), an apathetic punk rocker who has the good taste to listen to the Clash, the Cramps and the Ramones ("How vintage!," chirps Torrance) and to loathe everything associated with teen/team spirit. As Torrance's unlikely ally in her quest for a sixth trophy, Cliff's equally disaffected sister Missy (Eliza Dushku) provides moral support and a healthy dose of cynicism about the ultimate meaninglessness of cheerleading in the cosmic balance book.

Missy's the balsamic vinegar to Torrance's extra virgin olive oil. Without her sweetly sour outlook on life and love to keep things in perspective, "Bring It On" might easily have become just another "She's All That." What makes the film go down easy with the anti-cheer faction is the groundwork of bemused skepticism laid by writer Bendinger and coolly maintained by director Peyton Reed, a relative newcomer to features whose detached eye and experience in documentaries, music videos and the brilliant HBO alt-comedy show "Mr. Show With Bob & David" has obviously served him well.

Most refreshing of all is "Bring It On's" depiction of today's teenage population. Honest and at times unflattering in its portrayal of the first geeky stirrings of puppy love and in its unflinching vision of the back-stabbing cruelty that makes high school hell for most people, the movie spends only as much time as is necessary pandering to adolescent hormones. As a bonus, there's even a well-rounded, sympathetic gay character, and the slight undercurrent of homophobia that runs through the movie is limited to the circle of dumb football jocks, whose losing streak is the butt of even more jokes.

Of course, there's the ubiquitous teenage movie sex drive. But although the kids here are acknowledged as having erotic lives, they're not simply pictured as smaller but equally sophisticated versions of adults. The biological imperative to get lucky is actually portrayed as secondary to the drive to excel at something worthwhile and, better yet, when it comes to playing fair, to do the right thing.

BRING IT ON (PG-13, 99 minutes) – Contains obscenity, teeny bopper T&A, sexual innuendo and bathroom humor.

Reprinted from The Washington Post - By Michael O'Sullivan - August 25, 2000