For the characters in "Human Traffic," these weekends are as good as it's going to get. " Kicking and Screaming" was enlightening because it showed that kids of about the same age, given a chance at a decent education, were more interesting and better at entertaining themselves. But every weekend has its own plot, and every plot has its own unhappy ending, which is known as Monday morning. I could name them (all right: Jip, LuLu, Koop, Nina and Moff). The characters have names, and there is a plot-a plot and a half, in fact. "Human Traffic" is narrated as a pseudo-documentary the characters take us on a tour of their world, but the real narrator is the director, who could not make the film if he lived as his heroes do. "I was always watching them, always fascinated by them," he remembers, and today, at 34, while he still plays the same role, he does it on the Letterman show, while his friends are still in the basement, or in the ground. I was reminded of Mark Borchardt, the subject of the great documentary " American Movie," who dropped out at 13 or 14 and started drinking with his friends in the basements of their houses. He isn't working in a fast-food outlet for minimum wage. There is no perspective, no angle: He sympathizes with his characters. The director of the film, Justin Kerrigan, is 25. Fate of course is a practical joker with a nasty streak, but try telling them that. Fate has said they can put unknown substances into their systems and survive. Why is it funny? Because they're getting away with it. It is funny to get wasted, to almost overdose, to do reckless things, to live dangerously, to flirt with crime and drugs. They laugh at one another's self-destructiveness.
Traffic movie movie#
The movie remembers how at a certain age, hanging out with your friends, feeling solidarity against the 9-to-5 world, creates a fierce inner joy. There must, we think, be something more for them than this dead-end lifestyle. They have high spirits and their speech possesses the style and wit that can still be heard in those pockets of verbal invention (Ireland is another) where conversation is still an art form. They live for the weekends, when they can go out to rave clubs, use ecstasy, heroin and whatever else they can get their hands on, and pretend for 48 hours that they are free. The film takes place in Cardiff, in Wales, and is mostly about five friends who have jobs of stultifying boredom.
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