My Own Private Idaho (1991)
Directed by Gus Van Sant
Written by Gus Van Sant and William Shakespeare

I didn't think much of this film when it came out, though seeing it again more than a decade later, I see that it's aged well. What seemed like a kind of ramshackle excursion into arbitrary weirdness now looks like prototypical indie cinema—blueprint for the sort of thing you're bound to see on the Independent Film Channel no matter when you tune in.

And so, in light of it having been imitated so many times, you see the quality difference between My Own Private Idaho and its many bastard stepchildren right away. Lyrical, languid, purposeful, and—keep in mind, this was 1991—hopeful—it's a film that matters.

By no means perfect, it's visionary, and personal, and unique—these days, that's what I'm looking for. That, or just some weepy feel-good shit like About a Boy.

River Phoenix gives probably his best performance as a sweet, innocent, narcoleptic street hustler, and Keanu Reeves (when he still had indie cred) is also good as his best friend, the slumming mayor's son.

Keanu's story is culled almost wholecloth from Shakespeare's Henry IV, to the point where entire scenes are paraphrased from the original, with the Shakespearean dialogue only slightly modified to be more contemporary. This is the film's most audacious and amazing stunt—it's ballsy and quite hilarious, yet also meaningful.

But it's Phoenix's story that gives the movie its big, snuggly heart, and all of its optimism. The imagery inside his mind is just beautiful—salmon leaping into rivercurrent, rolling wheat fields, homely prairie houses, mother's face seen through three-year-old eyes—all free and untainted despite everything the guy goes through.

At the end, his character is back where he started, on a lonely road, broke and solitary, and when he falls dead asleep on the road, a car pulls over and two men get out to steal his shoes.

Had the movie been made a few years later, that would have been the ending. But then a second car pulls over and the driver picks him up off the road, still asleep, and takes him in. He'll always find safety, somewhere, somehow.

Flashes of real brilliance, deep, comforting, emotions, and slow, soothing visuals—this movie is like the best pedicure in the world. Seeing it again only makes me more sad that Gus Van Sant has yet to get back anywhere near his own private Idaho.

Review by Earl Carter