After their brash jazz singer pal Cookie (the adorable Thandie Newton) winds up hospitalized from overdosing on bad smack, mellow, sensible, long-suffering bass player heroin addict Spoon (a wonderfully laid-back and affable Tupac Shakur) and his wild, irrational, unpredictable keyboardist fellow dope fiend best friend Stretch (a marvelously manic Tim Roth) decide to go into rehab in order to kick their habits. This seemingly simple task proves to be easier said than done when the hapless pair run afoul of both angry drug dealers and a lumbering bureaucracy that's rife with red tape, apathy and incompetence.
Writer/director Vondie Curtis Hall expertly mines a savagely funny line in raw, caustic and profane pitch-black humor while delivering a scathing indictment of the indifference and ineptitude of the social welfare system. Moreover, this film has a great rough, gritty edge to it that positively surges with a furiously hopped-up crackling vitality. Best of all, the amazingly springy'n'zingy electric and natural chemistry between the utterly engaging well-matched leads is a constant joy to watch, reaching a hilariously brutal zenith towards the end when Shukar persuades Roth to repeatedly stab him in the stomach so they can both finally get some much-needed medical treatment. Roth and Shakur shine in their roles, plus there's terrific supporting turns by Newton, Hall as a lethal drug dealer, Tom Towles as Hall's equally deadly partner, Howard Hesseman as a weary blind Vietnam veteran with a seeing eye dog named Nixon, Charles Fleischer as a helpful social worker, Elizabeth Pena as a snippy hospital admissions person, Bokeem Woodbine as a volatile junkie, Lucy Liu as a cokehead, and John Sayles as a jerky cop. The movie's refreshingly candid and honest depiction of interracial relationships qualifies as another significant asset; the scene where Shakur chastises Roth for his overly liberal use of a certain harsh racial epithet in particular is a small gem. Bill Pope's slick, accomplished cinematography and Stewart Copeland's funky, syncopated score are likewise on the money excellent. A real treat.
Writer/director Vondie Curtis Hall expertly mines a savagely funny line in raw, caustic and profane pitch-black humor while delivering a scathing indictment of the indifference and ineptitude of the social welfare system. Moreover, this film has a great rough, gritty edge to it that positively surges with a furiously hopped-up crackling vitality. Best of all, the amazingly springy'n'zingy electric and natural chemistry between the utterly engaging well-matched leads is a constant joy to watch, reaching a hilariously brutal zenith towards the end when Shukar persuades Roth to repeatedly stab him in the stomach so they can both finally get some much-needed medical treatment. Roth and Shakur shine in their roles, plus there's terrific supporting turns by Newton, Hall as a lethal drug dealer, Tom Towles as Hall's equally deadly partner, Howard Hesseman as a weary blind Vietnam veteran with a seeing eye dog named Nixon, Charles Fleischer as a helpful social worker, Elizabeth Pena as a snippy hospital admissions person, Bokeem Woodbine as a volatile junkie, Lucy Liu as a cokehead, and John Sayles as a jerky cop. The movie's refreshingly candid and honest depiction of interracial relationships qualifies as another significant asset; the scene where Shakur chastises Roth for his overly liberal use of a certain harsh racial epithet in particular is a small gem. Bill Pope's slick, accomplished cinematography and Stewart Copeland's funky, syncopated score are likewise on the money excellent. A real treat.