It's films like this one - and the astonishingly mixed reviews it's garnered - that remind me how completely subjective this business is. I don't think I've ever enjoyed a film as little as Buffalo 66; I found it a perpetual struggle to watch, and only stayed to the end out of stubbornness, and a hope that there might be some sort of moment of revelation somewhere along the line. Yet I can't really say that this is a BAD film, much as I loathed it: it's well directed, has a terrific cast, Billy's dialogue has a certain compelling, desperate rhythm to it at times, and its grimy, downtrodden locations are extremely well chosen. My dislike of it was, I think, dislike of Vincent Gallo himself in an oddly personal way: here is a protagonist who is not just without a redeeming feature (that I can cope with) but without a single interesting feature, and Gallo seems convinced that he's a full-blown hero of romantic alienation. Perhaps the film is more ironic than I think - but I don't think so, it seems completely self-absorbed and solipsistic, yet the self into which it's absorbed simply isn't one with whom I want to spent five minutes.
It doesn't surprise me that Gallo originally completed a screenplay for this film a full decade before he made it, because this strikes me as fundamentally adolescent posturing, which is going to be appreciated primarily by young men who are in the adolescent-posturing stage themselves - aged eighteen it's possible I'd have found this a thrilling exercise in self-justification. Now I'm a few years past that (reader, condolences are welcome) I simply found myself infuriated by his self-importance. In particular, the way the film exploits its meaningless, nugatory fantasy woman, Layla, is pretty revolting. I can sort of see why Christina Ricci was tempted to play it, because the sheer absence of a character in the character she was playing is both a challenge and a sort of liberation for an actor, but it's still an absolute dog's breakfast of a role. Ricci herself is always worth watching, and there are flashes of brilliance from her and the rest of the cast. But the mind-numbingly unsubtle, egotistical, banal, clichéd, uninvolving and fundamentally stupid nature of Billy's progress puts this film absolutely beyond redemption for me.
It doesn't surprise me that Gallo originally completed a screenplay for this film a full decade before he made it, because this strikes me as fundamentally adolescent posturing, which is going to be appreciated primarily by young men who are in the adolescent-posturing stage themselves - aged eighteen it's possible I'd have found this a thrilling exercise in self-justification. Now I'm a few years past that (reader, condolences are welcome) I simply found myself infuriated by his self-importance. In particular, the way the film exploits its meaningless, nugatory fantasy woman, Layla, is pretty revolting. I can sort of see why Christina Ricci was tempted to play it, because the sheer absence of a character in the character she was playing is both a challenge and a sort of liberation for an actor, but it's still an absolute dog's breakfast of a role. Ricci herself is always worth watching, and there are flashes of brilliance from her and the rest of the cast. But the mind-numbingly unsubtle, egotistical, banal, clichéd, uninvolving and fundamentally stupid nature of Billy's progress puts this film absolutely beyond redemption for me.