Hurricane Streets

I continue to be bewildered by the aesthetic mindset of the people who attend the Sundance Film Festival every January--both the official jury and the "civilian" film buffs--as they regularly bestow awards on well-intentioned piffle while overlooking truly innovative and remarkable work. Hurricane Streets, a trite, painfully hokey coming-of-age tale written and directed by Morgan J. "not the one from Driving Miss Daisy" Freeman, won both the Audience award for Best Dramatic Feature and the jury's Best Director award in 1997, and I'm at a loss to explain why--especially considering that the stunning In the Company of Men was one of its competitors. If I mention that Freeman highlights his protagonist's status as the most sensitive and emotionally fragile member of a gang of penny-ante teenage thieves in New York City's East Village by making him asthmatic, is that sufficient to convince you that its absence from your shelves won't break any hearts? 'Cause it'd take this entire page to detail how dumb the plot is, I'm afraid. Not recommended. (M. D'Angelo)