palabras JEFF WILSER

Everyone in Alpha Dog has a tattoo. Or at least it seems like it. You get the sense that the film was sponsored by Ink, as every tough guy, mob boss, drug dealer, hooker, and even sales clerk has a tattoo on their neck or navel.

Why? It's one of my many curious stylistic choices by director Nick Cassavetes (The Notebook, John Q), who lets his obsession with "hip" threaten to swallow his movie whole, drown it in a sea of faux-Entourage, wannabe cool.

For the first (tedious) act of exposition, a clique of suburban LA stoners get high, deal, trash-talk, screw, swap jokes like "No, I'm not gonna suck your c#ck. You suck my c#ck!", and generally emulate a music video. A looooong video.

Then again, maybe that's to be expected, as It-boy Justin Timberlake takes center stage, sauntering across pool patios wearing a fedora and a loopy "what's up, dog!" smirk on his face. A likable stoner, JT serves as the #2 for a mid-level drug dealer, Johnny Truelove (Emile Hirsch), who rules his mini-empire with the business acumen of Fredo Corleone, clearly skating by on good luck and a good rep.

As usually happens in drug circles, and as always happens in movies about drug circles, pretty soon they all want to kill each other. Or, specifically, one of Johnny's underlings, played by an unhinged Ben Foster (Russell from Six Feet Under), uses an axe to break into his house, steal his tv, and take a dump on his living room rug.

Which, not coincidentally, is when the film starts to get interesting. Lurking beneath his awkward attempts to be cool, Cassavretes has a knack, even a gift, for showing us things that make us uncomfortable, for putting characters in situations that make us squirm. In one such moment, Johnny makes his underling--ostensibly his friend--scrub all the floors in the kitchen and bathroom. Not because they're dirty, just because he can.

Once the bad blood starts flowing, Johnny's gang decides to kidnap their enemy's brother, Zack (Anton Yelchin). In contrast to the booze-soaked gang, Zack is shy, sweet, and friendly. He's 15. He's a virgin. And he's suddenly caught up in this world of suburban gang violence. Without his usual gimmicks (gratuitous split screen, multiple POV shots), Cassavretes makes us ache for Zack's vulnerability. It works.

As we start to feel for Zack, and as the film takes an unflinching turn toward darkness, Cassavretes drops the awkward-cool and lasers in on the story. Supposedly inspired by true events, the kidnapping turns first comic, then violent, then emasculating.

The acting is first-rate. Cameos from Bruce Willis and Sharon Stone--who uglies-up better than Charlize Theron in Monster-- round out the ensemble. And yes. That even includes JT himself. Surprisingly, he's given more to work with than just SUV-street-talk, convincingly battling inner demons, cycling through the range of innocence, guilt, and regret.

Finally, once the posturing stops and the story kicks in, you can even overlook the tattoos.