Mala Noche

Gus Van Sant's feature debut is a typical first-time indie endeavor, boasting a surplus of artsy touches, wildly uneven acting, and more than a little pretension. The tale of a Portland skid row convenience store clerk named Walt (Tim Streeter) who becomes obsessed with a pair of young Mexican migrants, Mala Noche (1985) wears out its welcome fairly quickly, primarily due to the fact that the central character is too naïve to realize he is being played for a chump. The Mexicans clearly hold him in contempt—they wreck his car, steal his money, and openly call him “puto” (the Spanish slang for “faggot”), yet he keeps coming back for more. Even worse, Walt rhapsodizes endlessly via the soggy narration about the mystery and eroticism of his would-be objects of affection. To its credit, this $25,000 production features striking use of black-and-white cinematography and boasts an uncommonly strong central performance by Streeter (a Portland theater actor who never made another movie) as the love-struck clerk. But the nonprofessionals Doug Cooeyate and Ray Monge have no charisma as the Mexicans, which throws the film's central motif totally off-kilter, and Van Sant's weak screenplay meanders endlessly before stopping without any genuine sense of resolution. DVD extras on this Criterion Collection release include an interview with Van Sant on the film's creation, a profile of Walt Curtis (who wrote the autobiographical novella that inspired the film), a storyboard gallery, and an essay by film critic Dennis Lim. Outside of Van Sant's fans and larger collections on modern gay cinema, this is not a necessary purchase. (P. Hall)