Something truly rare in film: a disaster on every level. River Phoenix takes himself way too seriously in the title role of a hipster-doofus poet on the night everyone supposedly discovers what a genius he is. It's a film chock full of bad acting, bad writing, bad staging, and the most asinine, sanctimonious poetry ever heard. It makes Mike Myers' parody in So I Married an Axe Murderer sound like William Shakespeare. Of course, since River and Ione Skye are so good-looking, we're supposed to take them seriously. To paraphrase Heathers, it's teen-angst you-know-what. Don't fall for it. I admonish you all to leave in the 59-cent bin of your local video store where it belongs.
Review of A Night in the Life of Jimmy Reardon
