My Own Private Idaho (1991) - 9/10

My Own Private Idaho occupies a weird place in my mind. I half remember last watching it on late night TV, possibly after it being introduced by Alex Cox. I didn’t know what I was watching, but I was captivated without knowing why. 30 years on, I’m hoping to shed some light, but I hope I don’t regret it. So Mike (River Phoenix) is in Idaho with a whole lot of nothing, but a persistent cold, a steel guitar score… and narcoleptic seizures, that induce melancholic dreams of his mother. Waking up in Seattle, a transient grifter, hanging out with a bizarre roll call of older gentleman with an amusing range of quirks, it’s clear that this lifestyle doesn’t really suit Mike and his condition. He’s used to slumming it though. Until he’s taken to Alena’s (Grace Zabriskie) house, where he bumps into Scott (Keanu Reeves). He’s a hustler too, but unlike Mike, he comes from money. After a run in with the unnerving German car part salesman, Hans (Udo Keir). The pair find themselves in Portland. Here resides Bob (William Richert), homeless thieving father to the young male prostitutes like Budd (Flea). Everyone idolises Bob. He’s prophetic, poetic and opportunistic. Scott is due to inherit a family fortune on his 21st birthday and Bob hopes to cash in, but Mike and Scott see through Bob, his tall tales and empty promises. It’s a wonderful cast and a wonderfully empty story, that sort of drifts along with its leads and their youthful reflective dialogue. With an odd balance of surface hipster cool and a deep study of friendship, love and belonging. We follow Mike trying to make sense of his life and find his mother. Reeves is great, Phoenix is magnificent, although both nearly get overshadowed as Keir threatens to steals the show, miming to German electro pop with a lamp in a hotel room. It’s romantic and even more engaging than I remember. In the slacker cinema stable that signalled a certain period of the 90s, this stands out as a high watermark.

9/10