This film starts out with a somewhat spoiled Boston city boy flying out to Oregon, none-too-enthusiastically, to spend a few weeks with his divorced father in his new house. Here Dad has set himself up to enjoy all the beauty of the wilderness outside and all the cozy comforts of civilization inside. For at least half an hour we see a routine but heartwarming renewal of a father-son relationship. There is no premonition of what is to follow.
Then, suddenly, on his way back to Boston, the boy becomes the unwitting possessor of an undeveloped roll of pictures so valuable to the spies who took them that they will coldly kill not only to get them back but to cover up all trace of the confusion. They kidnap him and deposit him with a pair of heartless roughnecks living up in the mountains, whom they pay to dispose of him. The plot and mood take a very dark turn-- as abrupt, unpredictable, and merciless as real life.
While perhaps not a masterstroke, I can buy this particular twist. Why dramas so seldom allow events to unfold in front of the viewer without foreshadowings every few minutes escapes me.
The trouble is that, having taken this turn, these movie makers can't decide whether they are producing a thriller or a comedy. The left-over hippies are clowns, but they are so nasty that laughter were tasteless. The 12-year-old hops into the driver's seat of their rickety pickup truck and peels out for a brief, and incredibly poorly edited, dirt-road spin. His captors chase him uphill and down, and everyone gets lost-- including all sense of direction in the film.
It is not difficult to understand why few have seen it and fewer still have bothered to vote.
