Billy Crudup, as an aimless young screw-up and pill-popper in 1970s Chicago, has the mannerisms of a user down right, yet he doesn't convince as an addict. While riding on the dirty subway cars in the darkened city, interacting with the street life and the strays he seems to attract, Crudup certainly has the appropriate glassy-eyed expression and sheepish grin, but he's too lean and muscular and healthy-looking to be taken for a troubled junkie. The film, an adaptation of Denis Johnson's book of short stories, has been fairly well realized by director Alison Maclean (who has a vivid eye for detail); unfortunately, the protagonist isn't really a character at all, and this isn't entirely Crudup's fault. He hasn't been conceived as anything but a walking foul up, one with fabricated answers and--in his narration--'deep thoughts' soaked in the smugness of an elevated consciousness. Many stars help out in support, yet the film is less a dramatic achievement than an arty, somewhat indifferent passel of scenes. ** from ****
Review of Jesus' Son
