Gray Skies RIVER'S EDGE

By RICHARD SCHICKEL

A high-spirited adolescent commits an act of mischief. He and his buddies comically conspire to keep it secret from the adult world. Ultimately, though, the secret will out, and everyone draws a little closer together in a heartwarming and chucklesome conclusion. That plot is one of the stupefying conventions of movies about teenagers.

But what if the adolescent is a sullen, inarticulate psychotic? And what if he commits murder, not mischief? And what if his crowd, which contains no Molly Ringwalds or Matthew Brodericks and is led by a perpetually jumped-up speed freak (daringly played by Crispin Glover), still attempts to protect him from the law's vengeance?

Then one confronts not a gimmicky variant on a formula but a chilling experience called River's Edge. Tim Hunter, who directed Tex and co-wrote Over the Edge, movies about angry and isolated young men, may not have dealt with an alienated group before, but his vision of small-town American life is remarkably consistent. He works only in gray tones. The sun never shines on his world of ranchette homes and convenience stores. Adults exist only as malevolent authority figures.

The kids, huddling together for warmth in their entirely self-referential culture, are pathetic in their impoverishment. To be sure, one of them, Matt, who is played with exemplary restraint by Keanu Reeves, does finally violate their conspiracy and makes a tentative connection with traditional morality. But by this time the cold of this brave and singular work has seeped into our bones. We know that Matt is the exception to a bleak and deeply disturbing vision of adolescent life. -- By R.S.