Proof that My Own Private Idaho is the Melancholic, Hallucinatory Visual Experience You Need

My Own Private Idaho is a dreamtime dreamscape, punctuated by tense bouts of nightmare: a reverie suspended between hustling, remembering, and forgetting. My Own Private Idaho beckons us into a denim-clad shadow world of hustlers. The movie is lush, raw, and forceful. Wistful conversation provides an intimate window into the lives of our endearing protagonists: street denizens and rent boys.

The power is in the characters, and the way they relate, protect, use, and hurt each other. The frivolity and unearned haughtiness of Scott Favor (Keanu Reeves) contrasts majestically with the unstudied naivete of Mike Waters (River Phoenix). Misery abounds but River’s awed sense of innocence provides a new dimension to the storyline. He is jaded, but softly so.

Critics and film lovers have observed that the film is two storylines in one: the unfolding of Scott’s petty rebellion against his wealthy politician father, based on Shakespeare’s Henry IV, and Mike’s dizzy, drifting search for truth and closure. The Shakespearean formality of Scott’s demeanor and bearings is peculiarly delightful, and somehow works within the greater eccentricity of the film. His overwrought monologues feel revitalizing, raw, kinda radical.

The sincerity of the movie has a jolting effect, like cold spring water. It is arresting in its earnestness. As a visual experiment, My Own Private Idaho is absolutely riveting. The sartorial impact of the movie is manifest in each and every scene. Denim on denim, suede, weightless hair – it’s all here, folks. The aesthetic grungy pacific northwest majesty finds its twin flame in the pared down rendering of the landscape. It is Americana gone essentialist: stark vistas of endless fields, melancholic cityscapes, the eternal highway. Idaho is a veritable feast of aesthetic delights. Below we make a case for a repeat viewing of My Own Private Idaho, using 20 pieces of evidence to sway you, the jury.