***** WARNING - THIS REVIEW CONTAINS SPOILERS! *****
Everett Lewis, the writer of this 20-something L.A. angst-fest, apparently watched "Clerks," "High Fidelity," and "Where the Day Takes You" back-to-back and said "Hey! I can do that!" Bad acting, bad writing, a zillion random characters with nothing to do, and the boys are not even that pretty. (Hell, the lesbians looked better.) The lead character has chosen one emotion - blase with a touch of sadness - to get him through the whole movie, which is basically a bunch of gratuitous sex-capades punctuated by musings on the nature of love, record-store hi-jinks, and a bizarre sub-plot involving "Sex and the City"'s Willie Garson as a closeted I'm-Elton-John-no-I'm-Sid-Viscous rocker. The hardest I laughed was fifteen minutes from the end when the main character's friend, whose part is underwritten and who is basically the comic relief, offs himself because he can't deal with his unrequited love for his blue-haired best bud.
Everett Lewis, the writer of this 20-something L.A. angst-fest, apparently watched "Clerks," "High Fidelity," and "Where the Day Takes You" back-to-back and said "Hey! I can do that!" Bad acting, bad writing, a zillion random characters with nothing to do, and the boys are not even that pretty. (Hell, the lesbians looked better.) The lead character has chosen one emotion - blase with a touch of sadness - to get him through the whole movie, which is basically a bunch of gratuitous sex-capades punctuated by musings on the nature of love, record-store hi-jinks, and a bizarre sub-plot involving "Sex and the City"'s Willie Garson as a closeted I'm-Elton-John-no-I'm-Sid-Viscous rocker. The hardest I laughed was fifteen minutes from the end when the main character's friend, whose part is underwritten and who is basically the comic relief, offs himself because he can't deal with his unrequited love for his blue-haired best bud.