River’s Edge

A strange slice of Reagan-era, juvenile delinquent nihilism, River’s Edge feels kind of like the unholy offspring of Stand by Me and Heathers, if said offspring had caught a few scenes of Blue Velvet before his parents sent him to bed. It is less colorful and more uneven than any of those films, stymied by an ill-fitting score and an excess of melodrama. For better or worse, Crispin Glover’s wholly deranged performance, presumably green-screened in from another planet, is easily the most memorable aspect of River’s Edge. He is a puzzling but effective foil for the more sober dramatic work required of his cast mates.