A couple of nights ago, my wife and I left "Fear and Loathing in
Las Vegas" telling each other that although we found much of value in
this extraordinary picture, we would surely have little company in
defending what's undeniably an extreme and excessive experience on
just about every level. Since then, a series of conversations has
revealed that countless critics walked away from the screening with
some variation of the same idea, each convinced that he or she
enjoyed the picture for quirky, personal, downright inexplicable
reasons that few others could possibly share. The notion that "Fear
and Loathing in Las Vegas" will inevitably be a commercial flop also
appears to be widespread, but since the movie has become a cult hit
among critics even before its release, perhaps it's destined for
film-festival accolades and box-office dollars beyond its own wildest
dreams. Could this include Cannes's coveted Palme d'Or, bestowed in
recent years on such hallucinatory American productions as "Wild at
Heart" and "Barton Fink"? Hard to imagine, but some of us contrarians
are starting to cultivate furtive fantasies along these lines.
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