'Human Traffic': Road Rave Life in the Fast Lane With The Chemical Generation By Alona Wartofsky Washington Post Staff Writer Friday, May 12, 2000

Shaun Parks and John Simm in "Human Traffic." (Miramax)

The opening sequence of the new comedy "Human Traffic" captures the exuberant energy of the rave scenes here, there and everywhere. As Fatboy Slim's manic "Build It Up, Tear It Down" pulsates on the soundtrack, we see documentary footage of Europe raving: Thousands of happy hedonists at the Love Parade, Berlin's annual street techno fest, as well as British youths protesting their government's attempts to shutter illegal warehouse parties and outdoor raves.

It's a dazzling start to this debut effort by 25-year-old Welsh writer-director Justin Kerrigan, who has set the film in the industrial town of Cardiff, where he grew up. And as Jip (John Simm), the closest this ensemble piece has to a main character, begins a monologue justifying his nightclubbing lifestyle, this film starts to feel a lot like "Trainspotting," the enjoyable screen adaptation of Irvine Welsh's heroin chronicles.

But "Human Traffic" is not interested in sullen, withdrawn heroin addicts. This film aims to be a manifesto for the chemical generation, the hundreds of thousands of teenagers and young adults who live for the blissed-out community of the dance floor, a kinship facilitated by both intoxicating electronic dance music and ecstasy, the synthetic drug that induces euphoric feelings of empathy and love.

Does it succeed? Maybe a little. "Human Traffic" is wildly uneven--inventive and clever moments are interspersed with dull and predictable ones. And while the film does capture some of the spirit that characterizes rave culture, it also oversimplifies the phenomenon.

For example: Each of Kerrigan's characters has a reason for seeking a respite from real life. Jip, whose aging mother makes her living as a prostitute, is horrified by his own inability to function sexually. The unemployed Moff (Danny Dyer) is stuck at home with his parents, while Lulu (Lorraine Pilkington) has endured a string of awful boyfriends. Aspiring deejay Koop (Shaun Parkes) has a father who is institutionalized, and he himself seems slightly unhinged: He can't stop obsessing over his girlfriend Nina's nonexistent infidelities. And Nina (Nicola Reynolds), who works a deadening fast-food job, must contend with this obsessively jealous boyfriend.

Surely, there are some genuinely happy ravers out there somewhere, but this group's drug-induced haze is about escape. "The weekend has landed. All that exists now is clubs, drugs, pubs and parties; I've got 48 hours off from the world," Jip announces late Friday afternoon. "I'm gonna lose the plot on the dance floor. . . . We're gonna get more spaced out than Neil Armstrong ever did."

The events of the film take place during a single weekend, and the assorted subplots are serviceable but mundane. The friends are one ticket short--can they all get into the club anyway? (This complication leads to a cameo by deejay Carl Cox, who plays a thuggish club owner.) Can Jip get over his sexual paranoia? Will Lulu ever find true love?

"Human Traffic" also poses another question: Will Kerrigan's next effort rely so heavily on fantasy sequences? The film is peppered with them, which suggests that the director has spent a lot of time contemplating early Woody Allen as well as the toilet scene of "Trainspotting." Not all of these flights of fancy work--the one in which Jip is assaulted by his boss is both tasteless and unfunny. But a wizard's lecture on the politics of passing a joint is amusing.

When "Human Traffic" is funny, it can be very funny. Koop, who works in a music shop, sells an expensive hip-hop record by explaining that it was recorded by a posse of crackheads on death row. He closes the deal by pointing out that just as a painter's death increases the price of his artworks, so too will the death of a gangsta up the value of his raps.

Like "Trainspotting," the film depicts the downside of the very drug culture it celebrates. In another fantasy scene, the director makes light of the health risks involved in using ecstasy, but later he portrays the massive bummer that is an ecstasy hangover--the depression, insomnia and the misery of the Sunday dining room table with uncomprehending parents. "It's not like we're gonna do this forever," one raver explains. "Eventually, we'll get bored of it."

Unfortunately, before that happens, viewers may get bored with the characters' dopey ramblings. Anyone who's sipped club soda at a cocktail party knows that a trashed conversational partner can be an irritating conversational partner.

And sitting sober in a movie theater listening to Moff go on and on about all the drug references he's found in "Star Wars" will bring on a similar reaction.