'Wassup Rockers' veers from realism to farce

"Wassup Rockers," the latest in Larry Clark's run of sexually frank youth films that started with "Kids," is two movies in one: the first intimate and fresh, the latter broad and mocking. The first is promising enough that when things slide into increasingly silly satire, it feels like a betrayal.

First Look Pictures 'Wassup Rockers' 2 out of 5 stars The verdict: Director Larry Clark only partially knows 'Wassup' Director: Larry Clark Starring: Jonathan Velasquez, Francisco Pedrasa, Milton Velasquez, Usvaldo Panameno, Laura Cellner Run time: 91 minutes Release date: June 23, 2006 Rating: R for pervasive language, some violence, sexual content and teen drinking. On the web Official movie site Rate 'Wassup Rockers'   Go see it   Make it a matinee   Wait to rent   Don't bother Voter Limit: Once per Hour View Poll Results

The opening scene resembles the start of a documentary: A shirtless, good-looking kid sits alone in a bare-walled bedroom and tells the camera about his circle of friends. He's nervous with the filmmakers — he peppers his monologue with "and then," as if it were an all-purpose segue — even though it's clear from his stories that among his peers he's top dog.

Next we meet the rest of the boys, poor Los Angeles kids in their early teens whose families came from Guatemala and El Salvador (white characters in the film invariably refer to them as "Mexicans"; the kids cheerfully scold them). They're skateboarders whose tight jeans and black T-shirts stand out among baggy-clothed gang members. When not skating or talking about sex, they strap on guitars and thrash out some rudimentary punk.

The boys are nonprofessional actors (including Jonathan Velasquez, Francisco Pedrasa and Usvaldo Panameno) playing modified versions of themselves, and the aimless hanging-out of the film's first half is a fun way to get to know them. When they decide to take a ride across town, though, a variety of Los Angeles stereotypes start to compete for our attention.

They're pulled over by two cops who impound their unregistered old car, leaving them to take the bus to Beverly Hills. There, a long series of painful-looking skate stunts is interrupted by encounters with another cop (less sympathetic than the last) and with two rich white girls whose dialogue would have sounded shallow even on "Beverly Hills 90210." This run-in with the law ends badly, sending the kids fleeing on foot and skateboard, crossing culverts and hopping fences into backyards of the rich and famous.

The misadventures they have here are increasingly hard to buy, starting with a star-crossed sexual encounter and ending in Paul Bartel-like farce, where caricatures of Hollywood types present one weird threat after another. You wish you could skip past the director's version of this stuff, go back to the kids' living room, and hear them put their spin on the day's events instead. That would be far funnier than what's on screen.

Still, it's a minor treat to watch a movie in which the only characters who are remotely believable are the ones who would be cardboard cutouts — if they appeared at all — in most Hollywood productions. The movie doesn't work as well as it should, but its motivation is clear: to have a little fun at The Man's expense, while getting to know some kids who are used to being ignored or misunderstood.