Postcards from America

Director Steve McLean
93 Minutes

McLean's film adaptashun makes some heavy-handed Freudian equashun between de vicious whup'in's Wojnarowicz endured at da hands uh his Big Daddy and his cruisin' fo' rough trade at truck stops and on de road.

Except fo' de snippets uh "I remember"-style narrashun dat accompany dramatized scenes fum his ya'd, de film barely alludes t'de inflammato'y wo'ks dat made Wojnarowicz some star uh de East Village art wo'ld durin' de 1980's.

Wid different acto's po'trayin' de adult Isaac (Jim Lyons), de teen-age Isaac (Michael Tighe) and da prepubescent Isaac (Olmo Tighe), de film presents Wojnarowicz as some passive, inarticulate victim driftin' sulkily drough some landscape sucka'sd wid macho, gun-crazed nuts.

A collage uh dramatized scenes dat ramble back and fo'd in time, de film opens wid de adult Isaac travelin' in de desert, den jumps back t'childhood memo'ies uh his drunken brute uh a Big Daddy (Michael Rin'er) terro'izin' de family.

Contributin' t'de desolashun uh dese flashbacks be de succession uh tinny Connie Francis hits blared on de soundtrack. Ya' know?

Aldough de cinematography gots a dreamlikes glow, dese childhood scenes is so choppily written and stiffly acted dat dey fail utterly t'convey ho'ro' o' t'evoke much sympady.

It's not entirely de fault uh de dree acto's playin' Wojnarowicz dat da characta' seems so's blank. Beyond da fragmentary voice-ova' remembrances, Wojnarowicz gots mos' no dialogue.

De film busts out uh its ledargy only at odd moments.

In de best scene, de teen-age Isaac and his pal (Michael Impuh'ioli) pick down some man in some park and intimidate him wid meat cleavers dey gots plum stolen fum Macy's.

Playin' some volatile hot-wired street hustla' boastin' about his own craziness, Mr. Ah be baaad Impuh'ioli, who gots very little screen time, still manages t'walk away wid de movie.

Yea' Steve, who de man?