This young filmmaker does one thin superlatively: he begins his film well. Within the first few moments, we know the entire setup, a masterpiece of compression is blocking and two damaged women. It is almost worth the effort as we then begin a long slow slog through what is supposed to be the deconstruction of a mind to a wasted state.
The curse of this is that it follows a book written by the woman in question. Of course she went through this. Of course there is something worthy in understanding the nature of the pieces that fall off. But the thing is that this woman was dumb and crazy, so she has little to tell us about the experience, save that it happened and her mom was crazy.
We are tipped off when we learn that she is just the sort of writer that "Rolling Stone" desired, needed to write about its core: rock music. The music of this era -- at least the pop music that RS nourished -- was vapid and their perspective was glued to the fan bus. They needed dopes who could string words together to appear passionate, and this waif fit the bill. Her report of her journey is not reflective or insightful, and the filmmaker has added little other than the stellar Jessica Lange, who does well enough.
I came to this because I like how Ricci leverages disconnectedness. She is not a great actress in the sense of being able to go anywhere. But she does understand distance from one's self. She is what makes that first scene work. There is a lot of craft in that morose posture.
Ted's Evaluation -- 2 of 3: Has some interesting elements.
2 out of 4 found this helpful