A professional motorcycle racer embarks on a cross country journey from New Hampshire to California for his next race, haunted by the memories of his last encounter with a girl he loved named Daisy in this controversial, moody drama.
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If I had a nickel for every time Chloe makes a decision in a film or TV show that she regrets deeply I would have a lot of nickels. The BJ scene is what's known as a Brown Bunny, and it's important to the overall story, but I'm not sure it had to be real. Gallo's a bit of an arrogant jerk, and Chloe is perhaps a bit gullible.
Words keep failling and the backspace key keeps getting hit. This is just a sweet, tender film. It's so rare to find a work of art that deals with pain, with the past, with relationships, like this. And a film that is able to guide us this way, allowing us to look, follow a man's silence, his journey, to go with him on the road, look into his eyes. And understand his pain. It is so rare that a film allows us to feel.
I love the girl who works in the store in the first scene. Gallo said the role was supposed to be played by Kirsten Dunst, who backed out at the last minute, and he found this non-professional to play the part, who did a great job. Don't know if Gallo is telling the truth, I wouldn't trust the guy, but I agree with him that she did a great job. Exhuming Cheryl Tiegs was an act of genius. And the B.J. billboard ads!
In high school, I couldn't connect with this movie at all. I wasn't into miminalism then and Gallo's image didn't help. Now, I've gotten older, I can truly see the movie's heartbreak. Moving. Chilling. The hollowness of the human experience burns so brightly in this. By the way, that description is terrible.
I once read a comment from a user on here who suggested that this film might be more closely identified with by those who have made long introspective road trips alone. I think that's a terrific observation.
What the fuck? How can this guy act, write, direct, edit and shoot a movie this painstakingly solemn and true?
The fact that this movie was panned and pegged as masturbatory grants me the right to say that the Cannes critics that year are idiots.