The resulting film has the integrity and the ugliness of the truth. It's not true because it's ugly; no, it's ugly because it's true.
| Original Score: 2/4
There's no colorful Boschian absurdism here, only soulless banter and projectile vomit.
| Original Score: 1.5/4
One of those exercises in masculine self-pity and glib misogyny that frustrates because of its shortsightedness.
| Original Score: 1.5/5
Yes, it feels true. But why bother?
| Original Score: 2/5
This slovenly, self-indulgent riff on Charles Bukowski-like fringe-livers has all of the naked harshness of Bukowski with none of the poetry.
| Original Score: 1/5
An appreciation that the pain is personal doesn't compensate for the picture's self-absorbed need to alienate.
| Original Score: D-
The exuberant editing and puke-into-the-camera edginess indicate a film more interested in boasting of hell-raising than in exorcising it.
These two non-lovers have real chemistry, and it's hard not to be intoxicated by the strange cocktail of watching them together, even as the story appears to be going nowhere.