Stevo's quest to reconcile his dueling impulses is the crux of "SLC Punk," a meandering exploration into the time in a young man's life when he realizes he can't have blue hair forever. The movie starts out as a sweet piece of hardcore pie, full of energy and "Repo Man"-esque satire, but ultimately deteriorates into a Percodan-flavored "Afterschool Special." It's too bad, because before then, it kicks more ass than an angry bouncer.

As the film follows Stevo and his best friend Heroin Bob (Matthew Goorjian) -- an ironically named Travis Bickle clone with a dread of drugs and needles -- through their liberating and terrifying first few post-collegiate months, "SLC Punk" cleverly captures both the challenges of making the scene in a town where there is no scene and the defiant longing to hang on to youthful identity as long as possible before adult obligations encroach. Stevo and Bob fancy themselves anarchists, society dropouts with no goal except smashing the state. But unlike the mall rat "poseurs" they rail against, they're too soft-hearted and too bright for their own rhetoric. Stevo and Bob suspect they'll eventually get off their butts and settle down, just as they understand that they desperately need to believe in something. It's just that they're not sure what that something might be.

Writer-director James Merendino, who grew up in Salt Lake City, has a quirky affinity for the punk period and its screwy, angry idealism. He doesn't just Mohawk and Doc Martenize his cast and call it a day -- he's shrewd enough to litter Stevo and Bob's circle with Euro-trash hangers-on, buttoned down hardcore fanatics and ska-fueled mods, all of whom are slam dancing as fast as they can to avoid facing their own futures. Merendino's affection for the scene saves "SLC Punk" from becoming just another hardee-har-har trip into the land of zany hairstyles, and Lillard's nervous intensity gives the film its razor-blade on a neck-chain edge. But the movie sputters in its near nonstop visual trickery -- with gimmicks that betray a directorial uncertainty and crowded moments that cry out for simplification. Having Lillard frequently break out of the scene to address the viewer is entertaining, in a "Ferris Bueller" way, but other devices overreach. Merendino directs like he just got himself a new camera and wants to try every technique in the film school book -- juxtaposing images, freeze framing, bouncing between time and place. Such pupil-stressing overload is an odd choice, especially once the story line grinds down from witty nostalgia to wistful cautionary tale.

Like the recent British release "Metroland," "SLC Punk" grapples with the concepts of growing up and selling out, and asks if the two really always have to go together. Stevo, who early on claims he only went to college to "bring down the system" and "get a 4.0 in damage," knows his rationalizations are bullshit. A decent young man with a filthy rich, corporate lawyer for a dad, he's wise enough to not buy into rampant, "greed is good" consumerism, autonomous enough to be revolted by fellow punks who live their lives according to stupid song lyrics. He can debate chaos theory and deconstruct his reasons for battering local cowboys, but is he smart enough to justify turning into his father? More pressing, is he smart enough to keep it from happening in the first place?

For most of the film, that conundrum remains in the background, as Stevo gleefully goes to see bands, hangs out with his friends and expounds to the audience on such tangential subjects as who beats on whom in the natural order of things, how to put up with tedious weirdos in order to get decent weed and why living in Utah means buying beer in Wyoming. It's all amusing, if not exactly profound, and Stevo's posse, especially Heroin Bob, are so winningly likable in the most messed-up way that a little rambling here and there is forgivable. But when Stevo begins to question whether his punk lifestyle has any meaning, the film veers into the trite zone. It's not enough for Stevo, already established as an achieving, inherently responsible individual, to come to his own conclusions organically. He has to endure a series of disturbing incidents, meet a nice normal girl and then, for the coup de grâce, have a life-changing trauma. When fate steps in late in the film, it feels like a mean cheat. Sure, big moments come along in life while you're trying to make up your mind, but when films force characters to act completely in opposition to their firmly established personalities, the effect is smarmy and cut-rate.

To give "SLC Punk" its due, one must admit that it has wit and spirit, and in more abundance than most contemporary-setting youth culture films currently out there. Despite its painfully pat finale, the film does strike a bittersweet chord in anyone still clinging to the part of themselves that once dressed funny and scoffed at the idea of ever fitting in. As Lillard contemplates his future with a mixture of resignation and relief, those evil eyes of his convey the possibility that he just may still be able to bring down the system from within. And any film that can leave you humming the Dead Kennedys long after you've left the theater holds out Stevo's dim post-punk beacon of hope -- that no matter what happens in life, it helps to carry a song in your heart, preferably one that's really fast and really loud.
salon.com | April 16, 1999

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