A Boy Called Hate

Extravagantly praised in some quarters ('there haven't been many better US studies in adolescent ennui since Jonathan Kaplan's equally uncompromising Over the Edge,' according to Sight and Sound), this direct-to-video debut isn't worth getting too worked up about. The very familiar tale has Caan Jr as a misunderstood kid who takes off through the Midwest with a tearaway gal (Crider) after putting a bullet in the man who was attacking her. It's photographed with some élan, but Marcus's own script is mired in cliché, to the point where our runaways are inducted in Native American lore by a wild Indian (Beach) who seems to have strayed from the Oliver Stone reservation. Scott Caan is a bit of a pudding, but at least Crider gives good attitude.