They must issue this plot outline to all wannabe filmmakers arriving at the Hollywood bus station. They then fill in the blanks and set their story in whatever hick town or urban ghetto from which they just arrived. You know exactly what this movie is about from the opening shot, four young boys playing in grainy slow motion, accompanied by voice over narration. Next stop after the bus station must be to buy stock footage of four young boys playing in grainy slow motion. Once they're grown, it's easy to spot the writer/director among the four. He's the quiet, contemplative, long-haired one who is never seen without his composition book tucked in his pants. This means that his superb writing talent will be his ticket from Hickville to Hollywood. Only there's no writing, or directing talent on display here. And if you still can't figure out which one he is, here's a hint: The auteur and his character have the same middle name. It took over an hour to figure out that these twenty-something men were supposed to still be in high school. What looked like a prison was apparently a high school, the warden turned out to be the principal. Once more, the poor, misunderstood rebel can pound everyone in the movie into the pavement, murder and pillage, but is powerless to stand up to his alcoholic father. How about hitting back, kid, like you do everyone else? Numerous fist fight scenes for no apparent purpose. Howlingly bad dialogue. Many scenes badly out of focus. Cartoon characters keep popping up as bit players and extras, drawing unintentional laughs from the premiere audience. Overacting in the extreme. And if you don't quite get the self-important speeches, or the slow-motion scenes, just listen to the overbearing music. It will clue you in and what you're supposed to feel. Poor Marisa Ryan must be racking up lots of frequent flier mileage as she travels around the country working in these amateur regional films. The biggest sin is that the audience is supposed to feel sympathy for kids who gun down old ladies, run over puppies chained to a tree, rob and steal, all the while complaining about their sad, sorry lives. But if only we could get out of this hick town and go to college. Yeah, that's the ticket. Why is it that every twenty-something filmmaker believes that his life so far is so important, so interesting, that the world can't wait to see it onscreen? If this movie is as autobiographical as it seems, then the auteur better be looking over his shoulder for policemen bearing fugitive warrants.