Slothrop: How come I always fall in love with girls who wear hot-pink leopard tights and stab James Gandolphini in the foot with corkscrews? I'm a Jersey boy, is why, and I miss home. Are you going to be a stiff and point out that the film takes place in Detroit and LA? Fine, be that thing, but Patricia Arquette is a Jersey Girl through and through and I love her.
Koko: Seriously, Slothrop, while I respect your fetish for New Jersey tights--and you know I do--how is this movie not terrible? Too many allusions to Badlands make the plot feel contrived, not clever, and even though I've waited my entire life to see Gary Oldman in dreadlocks, I can't enjoy his sublimely inappropriate performance knowing that even an uber-ironic take on the whole "damn the law and I love you" story stales after sixty years of retelling.
Slothrop: It is rare, but sometimes the poor construction of a movie doesn't matter as much as the story it tells. And I like this story, regardless of how many times I hear it. I like the cliche. I'm a romantic sucka with an enormous cock; such is my fate. (And with some structuralist hocus pocus, can't all stories be reduced to only a handful of archetypes?) But I promise I won't be watching it again any time soon for fear of noticing all the duct tape and staples and paper clips holding it together which I missed the first time around because I was... blinded by the tights.
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