First of all, I want the stitchery that quotes the band Talking Heads: "Facts all come with points of view, facts don't do what I want them to." Phoebe Cates with short hair, so counter to the usual 1980's style, wouldn't be bad either, but there is not nearly enough of her here. There is really not enough of anything here. If I had to pick one word to describe this film, it would be 'uninspired.' All of the back stories for this guy struggling with a coke habit (Michael J. Fox) - his failed marriage, his mother who passed away a year before, and his attempts to write - are told so weakly. I never believed Fox in this role, and the script has silly elements like the ferret attack and his mother asking him about his sex life on her deathbed ("do you like it?" she asks). The best things this film has going for it are occasional shots in New York from cinematographer Gordon Willis and just seeing Fox here with Tracy Pollan, who he would wed just months later. Otherwise, it's an unappealing story, told in an unappealing way.
Review of Bright Lights, Big City
