Disaffected prototypes so aware of their disinterest in humanity the sight of a dead girl — their friend — doesn’t inspire a twitch. Keanu snitches, with remorse, acts well. Keanu only acts well when he needs to be confused and/or stoned. See Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure; The Matrix; Parenthood. Don’t see Hardball; Feeling Minnesota; A Walk in the Clouds.

Ione Skye (billed as Ione Skye Leitch here) looks like a ripe nectarine, soft, fuzzy, bittersweet, maybe a bit bruised. Crispin Glover, in the star-make, does manic and doofy, elegant and whirlagig all at once. He is the heart of the picture and also wildly irritating, if only because at that point in his career he only had one mode; wounded weirdo. Daniel Roebuck, who I remember best as the third-string Deputy Marshall hangin’ with Tommy Lee Jones in the The Fugitive, was more affecting as Jay Leno’s chin in The Late Shift than his oafish murderer here. Faux-mania and power surges in the middle of nowhere, drinking and driving and drinking. Underage. Burnt out. Broken. Tim Hunter never made a better film. but I see he directed four episodes of Mad Men. I gotta see that show.