Neal (Thomas Jane) is having trouble coming to terms with the attempted suicide of his girlfriend, Joan (Claire Forlani), so he's avoided seeing her in the hospital. Instead, he spends all his time at the pool hall with his buddy Harry (Keanu Reeves) and hitting on underaged girls. He finally gets a chance to start over and have the life of his dreams, only to discover that past decisions have far-reaching consequences.
God, this movie was insufferable. It felt very amateurish, a fresh-out-of-film-school pretentiousness in editing, music, and direction. The acting was frenetic without being dynamic, with a brittle cokehead quality clearly meant to be profound.
It is based on a letter from the collection of Neal Cassady, who the movie will tell you was a major influential figure on Jack Kerouac and the beatnik set, even though Cassady was a minor player in terms of published volume compared to his peers. That appeals to a certain set of men, the kind that think Catcher in the Rye is the Great American Novel in middle school only to become full-blown Hemingway stans by high school before devolving into generic Rand-spouting parrots by the end of their undergrad and taking a job in daddy's investment firm where they'll never have to read another book as long as they live.
I hate this movie, is what I'm saying here. It's misogynistic garbage masquerading as philosophy and everyone involved went on to better things so it can safely be consigned to the toxic waste section of the ash heap of history.
It's streaming on the Roku channel for free, which is still too high a price.
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