A Boy Called Hate Reviews

An aimless teenage car thief with a gun and a grudge. An abused, underage sexpot with an attitude. A chance encounter on an empty road, followed inevitably by violence and a hopeless flight from the law. Granted, it's cliched material, and the symbols fly thick and fast: a starburst of shattered window glass on the pavement, an impossibly green golf course called Camelot, smack in the middle of the desert. But A BOY CALLED HATE is handsomely mounted by writer-director Mitch Marcus, and newcomers Scott Caan (son of James, who appears as his loutish dad) and Missy Crider turn in surprisingly nuanced performances as the bad teenagers in love. Best of all, Elliott Gould -- who's forging a new career as a figure of dorky paternal authority -- is stupendously sleazy as the abusive uncle who sets off the chain reaction of lethal mishaps.