This review may contain spoilers. I can handle the truth.
Evan Popplestone’s review published on Letterboxd:
This review may contain spoilers.
"Time is a funny thing. Time is a very peculiar item. You see when you're young, you're a kid, you got time, you got nothing but time. Throw away a couple of years, a couple of years there... it doesn't matter. You know. The older you get you say, 'Jesus, how much I got? I got thirty-five summers left.' Think about it. Thirty-five summers."
Francis Ford Coppola's adaptation of S.E. Hinton's novel has to be my favourite of all of his films. It's an undeniably stylised and self-conscious work with all of its expressionistic black-and-white visual finesse, blatant symbolism, occasional striking incursions of colour (those fish!) and Stewart Copeland's inventive soundtrack.
While some suggest that these stylistic touches are excessive, I vehemently disagree. It's a film about a youth named Rusty James (Matt Dillon) who has been deprived of anything of worth in his life apart from an older brother whom he looks up to (The Motorcycle Boy, played by Mickey Rourke) and (at his young age) ample amounts of time (represented by those ubiquitous clocks). In his limited mindset, his few trivial pursuits in life - gang fights, his girlfriend, alcohol and pool - suddenly take on a heightened meaning to the point where they are experienced with a sheer cinematic profundity.
It's a beautiful, haunting film that only becomes richer with multiple viewings.