It starts with a beat. Not a subtle one, either. It’s that aggressive, high-energy stomp-clap that immediately teleports anyone born before 1995 back to a specific era of glossy, saturated teen movies. Honestly, when you think about the bring it on opening scene, you probably hear the lyrics before you see the pom-poms. "I’m sexy, I’m cute, I’m popular to boot!"
It was 2000. Britney was topping the charts, low-rise jeans were becoming a threat to society, and Kirsten Dunst was about to cement herself as the queen of the high school ecosystem. But here’s the thing about that opening: it’s a total lie. Not a mistake by the director, Peyton Reed, but a deliberate, genius bait-and-switch that sets the tone for a movie that was way smarter than it had any right to be.
Most people remember the cheer, the bright red uniforms, and the perfectly synchronized choreography. But if you haven’t watched it in a decade, you might have forgotten the punchline.
The Dream Sequence That Fooled Everyone
The bring it on opening scene isn't actually happening. It’s a dream. Torrance Shipman is asleep in her bedroom, dreaming of the perfect cheer routine where the entire school revolves around her.
It’s hyper-saturated. The colors are too bright. The movements are too sharp. It captures that specific brand of narcissism that only a seventeen-year-old at the top of the social ladder can possess. We see the Toro cheerleaders breaking the fourth wall, looking directly into the camera, and introducing themselves with rhymes that are—let’s be real—kind of iconic and kind of cringe-worthy all at once.
"I’m big T-T-T-Torrance!"
But then the dream turns. The music skips. The crowd disappears. Torrance realized she’s cheering in her underwear in front of the whole school. It’s the classic anxiety dream, but used as a narrative engine. This wasn't just a flashy way to start a movie; it was a way to establish the stakes. For these characters, cheerleading isn't a hobby. It’s their entire identity. If the routine fails, they’re naked. Exposed. Total failures.
Why the Choreography Actually Mattered
Anne Fletcher was the mastermind behind the movement. Before she was directing 27 Dresses or The Proposal, she was a choreographer who understood that cheerleading on film usually looked... well, bad. It was usually just girls shaking pom-poms in the background of a football game.
Fletcher and Reed wanted something different. They wanted athleticism. They wanted "stunting."
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In the bring it on opening scene, the choreography is designed to look like the "ideal" version of cheerleading. It’s what the Toros think they look like. It’s crisp, traditional, and very white. This is crucial because the entire plot of the movie hinges on the fact that the Toros have been stealing their routines from the East Compton Clovers.
The opening scene shows us the "stolen" aesthetic in its most polished form. It’s the version of the sport that gets the trophies and the TV spots. By starting with this dream-like, perfect sequence, the film creates a massive contrast for when we finally meet the Clovers. Gabrielle Union’s squad doesn't get a dream sequence; they get the hard reality of practicing on concrete without funding.
The contrast is jarring. It’s supposed to be.
The Dialogue and the "Spirit Fingers" Legacy
We have to talk about the writing. Jessica Bendinger wrote a script that captured a very specific vernacular. It wasn't just "teen speak"; it was "cheer speak."
The opening sets up the linguistic rules of the world. Terms like "cheer-ocracy" and "spirit fingers" became part of the cultural lexicon almost overnight. While those specific terms pop up a bit later in the training montages, the rhythmic, rhyming nature of the bring it on opening scene prepares the audience for a movie that operates like a musical.
Think about it. In a traditional musical, characters burst into song when their emotions are too big for words. In Bring It On, they burst into cheers. The opening "cheer-off" against the camera is essentially the "I Want" song of the movie. Torrance wants to be the best. She wants the legacy. She wants to be the "sexy, cute" girl everyone looks up to.
But the movie is a satire. It’s mocking that desire even as it celebrates the athleticism required to achieve it.
Technical Execution and the 2000s Aesthetic
Technically, the scene is a marvel of its time. Shot on 35mm film, it has a grain and a depth that modern digital teen movies often lack. The lighting is intentionally "flat" in the dream sequence to mimic a high-end commercial or a music video of the era.
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Reed used a lot of wide shots to prove that the actors were actually doing the work. Kirsten Dunst, Eliza Dushku, and the rest of the cast went through a grueling four-week cheer camp. There were no stunt doubles for the basic movements in that opening shot. When you see Dunst hitting a high V-motion, that’s her.
That authenticity is why it’s stayed in the collective consciousness. You can tell when an actor is faking it. Here, they were sweating. They were bruised.
- The Uniforms: Designed by Mary Jane Fort, the red, black, and white "Toro" uniforms became so popular that they are still a top-selling Halloween costume twenty-five years later.
- The Editing: The quick cuts mirror the tempo of the music, which was a 145 BPM (beats per minute) track—standard for competitive cheerleading.
- The Sound: The "stomp-stomp-clap" was layered in post-production to sound like it was echoing in a massive stadium, even though the scene was shot on a smaller set.
Breaking the Fourth Wall Before It Was Cool
Today, characters talk to the camera all the time. Fleabag did it. Deadpool does it. But in a 2000 teen comedy? It was a bold stylistic choice.
By having the cheerleaders address the audience directly—"I know you love me!"—the movie acknowledges its own absurdity. It’s telling the viewer, "Yeah, we know this is a movie about girls in short skirts jumping around. We’re in on the joke."
This self-awareness is what saved Bring It On from being a bargain-bin DVD release. It’s why critics like Roger Ebert actually gave it a positive review. He recognized that the film was a "sly, satirical look at the social structures of high school," rather than just another fluff piece.
The bring it on opening scene is the thesis statement for that satire. It presents the "dream" of the American High School Experience and then literally wakes the protagonist up to a reality where she’s a "cheer-snob" who has inherited a fraudulent legacy.
Real-World Impact on Competitive Cheerleading
Before this movie, most people didn't realize cheerleading was a competitive sport. They thought it was just support for the football team.
The opening scene changed that perception. It showed the athleticism, the choreography, and the sheer ego involved. After the film’s release, participation in competitive cheerleading skyrocketed. The All-Star cheer world exploded.
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However, it also highlighted the racial and economic divide in the sport. The Clovers weren't just "the rivals." They were the rightful owners of the Toros' success. By starting the movie with the Toros' "perfect" (stolen) cheer, the film forces the audience to root for the Toros initially, only to make us feel the same guilt Torrance feels when she discovers the truth.
It’s a sophisticated bit of emotional manipulation.
How to Revisit the Scene Today
If you’re looking to analyze the bring it on opening scene for yourself, don't just watch it on a tiny phone screen. Put it on a TV. Listen to the sound mix.
Pay attention to:
- The Background Characters: Look at how the non-speaking cheerleaders are reacting. Their expressions are dialed up to 11.
- The Lighting Shift: Watch how the light changes the second Torrance "wakes up." The world goes from golden and glowing to a cool, blue-ish morning light.
- The Lyrics: Listen to the lyrics of the cheer again. They are incredibly aggressive. "I’m the operator with my pocket calculator!" It’s nonsensical, but it sounds authoritative.
The movie is currently available on most major streaming platforms, and the 4K restorations really bring out the intentional "pop" of the opening sequence.
Actionable Takeaways for Film Fans
If you're a creator or just someone who loves the mechanics of storytelling, there’s a lot to learn from these three minutes.
First, use a "false start." If your story is about deconstructing a myth, start by showing the myth in its most perfect, shiny form. This gives your audience a baseline to compare the rest of the story against.
Second, don't be afraid of the "cringe." The lyrics in the opening are objectively ridiculous. But because the actors perform them with 100% conviction, they become iconic instead of embarrassing.
Finally, remember that rhythm is everything. Whether you're writing a scene or editing a video, matching your cuts to a physical beat (like a clap or a stomp) creates an instinctive connection with the viewer that dialogue alone can't achieve.
The Toros might have been "stole-os," but that opening scene was pure, original gold. It remains the gold standard for how to introduce a world, a conflict, and a tone in under three minutes without wasting a single second of the audience's time.