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Bobby G. Can't Swim...

2002, Movie, NR, 85 mins

BOBBY G. CAN'T SWIM... | BOBBY G. CAN'T SWIM: A STORY FROM HELL'S KITCHEN
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A low-budget slice of street life written, directed by and starring New Haven, CT-born John-Luke Montias, an aspiring actor who parlayed his years of tending bar into a screenplay, then hit up his old customers to produce it. Montias deserves credit for getting his film made, and it played well at regional festivals. But it's an awfully derivative story about a small-time grifter, Bobby G. (for Grace), and the long, dark night of despair that follows his attempt to pull off the one big score so popular with filmmakers who have ironic redemption on the brain. Small-time dope dealer Bobby lives in a Hells Kitchen, NY, hovel with his good-hearted hooker girlfriend, Lucy (Susan Mitchell). A disturbing dream about her mother persuades Lucy that it's time to go home to Puerto Rico, with or without Bobby. At the same time, Bobby is approached by a trio of yuppie jerks (Paul Maged, Andrew Rein, Michael Gnat) who want to buy a kilo of coke, a deal that could have Bobby living large. But his regular connection, Coco (Vincent Vega), doesn't deal in large quantities and would rather not introduce perpetual screw-up Bobby to his own supplier, the deeply scary Astro (Steve Heinze). Anyone who's ever seen any movie about overly ambitious but not-too-bright hustlers knows what happens next: Bobby persuades Coco and Astro to trust him, screws up, then mires himself in a world of crap trying to fix the first screw-up. Montias doesn't miss a street-life cliché: Colorful local guys shooting the breeze on the corner, the thuggish cops, the devilish deal with a Mafia sharpie, the saintly black homeless woman, the child-like blind man and the dreadful twist of fate. Montias uses his scruffy locations well, and elicits generally good performances from his cast, notably Mitchell and Vega. But he also allows non-professional Norman Milton too give an absolutely dreadful performance as the sightless, naively wise peddler Popeet, and permits himself a few too many scenes of anguished fist-shaking at cruel fate. Still, as a debut it holds out the promise that Montias might do something more interesting in his next film. leave a comment --Maitland McDonagh
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