The film opens with a young man (director Linklater himself) arriving in Austin. There’s no soundtrack to speak of, only the occasional background music from a radio or club band. Then, as one or two people in the group grow fidgety or distracted-or bored-they move on, as does the camera, riding along with them to the next interaction. We have the opportunity to watch and listen but the film leaves it entirely for us to surmise backstories and histories. The camera drops into discussions midstream. Often these moments have no distinguishable beginning or ending, just slices of time in the company of cafe philosophers, conspiracy theorists, guys trying to get laid, and girls trying to be taken seriously.Įntirely linear, Slacker never flashes back or forward, always remaining in the moment, giving the film a kind of bald, unprotected sensation. In Slacker the camera floats from one group of people to the next, eavesdropping for a minute here or ten minutes there, taking snapshots of the lives of tens of people connected only by the slenderest of threads-in sum, documenting a day in the life of Austin, Texas, circa 1991. Slacker doesn’t follow a story arc of one or two characters, and it’s not a collection of marginally intertwined stories like Altman’s Short Cuts or the animated Heavy Metal.
After all, this is seemingly a film about not giving a shit.Īt least, that’s the most immediate impression on first watching Slacker, that and its nontraditional film narrative. Club’s “New Cult Canon” and topping numerous critics’ “best indie film of all-time” rankings, Slacker is an odd addition to any best-of list.
Although I can’t imagine any of the characters in the film Slacker being terribly nostalgic about anything, it’s worth noting this year marks the 25th anniversary of the release of Richard Linklater’s gem.
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