Gravesend | Chicago Reader


The use of music is pathetically derivative, and the grainy black-and-white photography associated with the main characters' histories is annoyingly simplistic—yet there's something frighteningly fresh about this drama, produced in 1995, in which a group of chronically violent young guys in Brooklyn one night cross the line into murder. I thought I'd had enough of the half-macho, half-social-criticism school of filmmaking, with its stories about charmingly repellent doomed men. But writer-director Salvatore Stabile frames the narrative with his own first-person voice-over, excluding himself from the logistics of the story but implicating himself deeply in its emotions. Without being self-indulgent he really makes you feel his youthful urban angst.


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