It’s an especially fun movie from a director and cast who are clearly having a good time allowing themselves to let loose.

It’s sentimental, ridiculously long and only occasionally funny

Strong acting helps the film overcome an uncertain premise and create characters that hold our attention absolutely.

The film never slows down or bores, plunging from one harrowing sequence to the next.

Most of the scenes are Bud in the driver seat, looking like he got a lot on his mind, with some shit-ass background sound.

By now, it's no secret why anyone would sit through "The Brown Bunny", and the best advice I can offer is skip to the 80-minute mark. You won't be titillated, but the curiosity will be sated. Apart from that notorious scene, the whole journey to this point is a grueling series of static camera shots, aimless drifting and lots of driving. My god, the driving. It's not so much that I didn't like Vincent Gallo or his character in this (I didn't), it's that I wanted something to happen. We just hang there awkwardly in scenes and the lack of rhythm was the most frustrating. There's a narrative twist at the end which serves as the movie's fulcrum, but it just keels the whole thing over.It's not the story being told, it's the guy telling it. I know this is supposed to be a sad art-house movie, but it's Gallo driving cross-country for a blowjob. To be fair, it's not the crime against cinema that the Internet has made it out to be, but it's also not something I want to endure again.2/10

After racing in New Hampshire, the lonely motorcycle racer Bud Clay (Vincent Gallo) drives his van in a five-day journey to California for the next race. Along his trip, he meets fan, lonely women, prostitutes, but he leaves them since he is actually looking for the woman he loves, Daisy (Chloë Sevigny). He goes to her house and leaves a note telling where he is lodged. Out of the blue, Daisy appears in his hotel room and soon he learns why he cannot find her."The Brown Bunny" is an independent very low budget movie by Vincent Gallo. The plot is developed in slow pace and is dull and boring in many moments. The revelation of Daisy's secret is totally unexpected. However the movie has become famous only because of the unnecessary fellatio of Chloë Sevigny, maybe to satisfy Vincent Gallo's ego, since does not add anything but a polemic scene to this movie in a poor hype. My vote is five.Title (Brazil): Not available on DVD or Blu-Ray

Roger Ebert called this the worst movie ever to appear at Cannes and the writer of Beneath the Valley of the Dolls knows crap when he sees it. Vincent Gallo - who wrote, directed, produced and edited this item, probably in his garage - stars as a motorcycle racer who drives across the country to compete in California. He drives. And drives. And drives. And considering that he is supposed to be a professional racer, he doesn't seem to have much enthusiasm for it, or flair, and this is a key failing. Racers are speed demons and daredevils. Dale Earnhardt would trade paint with you in a supermarket parking lot. Gallo makes the act of piloting a vehicle about as exciting as washing one.The road movie as existential quest has a long cinematic tradition, and this means that any new entry in the field needs to achieve genuine novelty or risk being trite. Yet, with its hand-held camera shots of Gallo driving in medium closeup, most of the film comes off like a drive cross country with your uncle, complete with randomly bad song choices and fly splatters on the windshield. Like a lot of indie films, this one tries to make a virtue of its lack of conventional film aesthetics and its grungy production values, as if this somehow makes it 'realistic'. Reality, of course, is boring. Thus 'realism' is only a worthy goal if its makes the fiction more compelling. Very little in this film is in any way compelling. The storytelling certainly isn't, as next to nothing happens. We get occasional glimpses of Gallo interacting with random women along the way, and some of the moments quietly yet articulately convey his character's pain and neediness. Unfortunately, this only serves to remind us that when he is alone in the scene, we get nothing from him as an actor. What we get is dead air. Note to Gallo: fiction is supposed to be interesting. And his portrayal of an emotionally bled out loner just isn't. He fails to make his character even minimally sympathetic or interesting, and thus although the viewer recognizes that his journey is a search for meaning in a life gone somehow off the rails, that viewer doesn't really care. Gallo could find the meaning of life or drive into the ocean with equally uninspiring results. In short, the film fails as a character study as thoroughly as it fails as a road movie. There is little to see, and even less to contemplate as we go along on this American odyssey. I suggest counting the windshield bugs.If you must watch this dog, look for Cheryl Tiegs as a woman sitting at a bench at a roadside rest stop. Yeah, sure, EVERY rest stop has a retired supermodel hanging out there. Highways are thick with 'em. Anyway, she hits the perfect note as a wary, yet in her own way needy person when she meets Gallo. Moments like these in the film hint that there was the germ of a successful idea here. Gallo lacked either the vision or the discipline to carry it through over the film's length. Filmmaking is generally a collaborative exercise. Indie artists decry Hollywood's committee approach as an artistic melting pot that confines cinematic mavericks. This is certainly true. It has the advantage, however of creating checks on directionlessness and egomania, and I suspect that a trusted collaborator could have pointed out the flaws in Gallo's approach before he exposed them on film. Ebert was right. This thing sorely needed a better edit. There was probably a pretty decent ten minute short in there someplace.What truly shocked me about this film was not the brief explicit scene - if indie film artists want to use sex to distinguish themselves from Hollywood's puritan wary mainstream, they should go right ahead. What was shocking about The Brown Bunny was that it cost $10 million, or roughly the budget of Pulp Fiction, to produce a movie that looked like somebody's film school thesis project, and which was thoroughly hated by 90% of those who saw it.If the road trip really is a metaphor for the pursuit of meaning, then Gallo got nowhere because this movie is pretty much lacking it.