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Road movie with a difference. Dark tale of urban fairies. Coming of age
drama. New Shakesqueer cinema. River Phoenix's last great movie.
Rambling, pseudo-European kitsch. My Own Private Idaho is one of those
films that defies classification and divides critics. From the houses
crashing from the sky (used to great effect in the Under the Bridge
video) to the brutal conversations about gay prostitution, from the
whimsical modernisation of Henry IV I and II to the wild casting, Idaho
appears either a disjointed, over-ambitious follow-up to Van Sant's
dystopic Drugstore Cowboy or a precursor of the insane, silly excesses
of Even Cowgirls get the Blues and Psycho 1998.
Keanu Reeves and River Phoenix - arguably the two biggest teen
heart-throbs of the time - play hustlers Scott and Mike, whose sexual
encounters with the bizarre denizens of Portland, Oregon bring them
into contact with drug-dealer, pimp and Falstaffian anti-hero Bob
(Richert), from whom they steal enough money to escape Scott's father
(the Mayor) and go and find Mike's mother in Italy. Around this plot are
woven several love stories, a father-son conflict straight out of
Shakespeare, some documentary-style set pieces, and some very
surreal film-making.
Phoenix's character Mike is narcoleptic (he falls asleep at moments of
stress) and we see the world through his eyes - the excuse for sudden
close-ups, technicolour panoramas, flash-backs and dream visions.
His relationship with Scott (Reeves) won the film awards for its
head-on addressing of the degrees and kinds of homosexuality - many
other eyebrows were raised at the scene where Reeves and Phoenix appear
as cover boys on porn mags and talk from the shelves. The high quality of
the dialogue, the extraordinary range of characters and landscapes,
and River Phoenix's most sensitive and demanding performance all make
Idaho one of the strangest, most essential and most unforgettable
films of the 1990s.
Sophie Levy
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