I've lived in Southeast US-Appalachia-Mid Atlantic for 40 years. No white folks down here talk like the ones in this film. They're called "actors" (a few A-listers in this cast) and they were terrible at being Southern.
Obviously director William H. Macy did not grow up down South. He very easily could have consulted, say, Lucas Black, Michael Rooker, Billy Bob Thornton, Matthew Mahogany, Danny MacBride, Robert Patrick for help in the Southeastern dialect department.
A few other flaws, like the unrealistically fast-paced AA meetings and the stoner physician, also played a part in the total failure of this here picture. But nothing was as blatantly fake as the accents right from the start.
The story was good. But from the very beginning of the movie when the main character began narrating, the faux twang was a dealbreaker for me. I finished it, nevertheless. As I lectured myself on the chunk of my life that I wasted viewing Krystal, I decided to vent my anger right here, right now. Honestly it was Rosario Dawson that enticed my curiosity, which is rather ironic because basically that's what the movie is about; a kid falls for a gorgeous woman, again.
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