By Hook or by Crook Reviews

An appealing, if decidedly unconventional, buddy picture that seems to channel MIDNIGHT COWBOY (1969) while going its own quirky way. Still reeling from her father's recent death and threatened with imminent eviction, Shy (Silas Howard) decides it's time to get out of Hoxie, Kans. Inspired by news of the Robin Hood-style robbery of a California "Costlo" warehouse club, and motivated by a personal sense of social injustice, Shy hitches a ride to San Francisco. Intending to stage a robbery of her own, Shy hits the streets with little more than a suitcase, a snazzy suit and a spectacular pair of shoes. Without a dime to her name, she winds up spending her first night in the big city sleeping in a doorway. Shy has better luck the next night when she runs into Valentine (Harry Dodge), a scrappy oddball with a fledgling goatee and a wild look in her eyes that could mean she's a genius or simply that she's out of her mind. Shy rescues Val from the receiving end of a serious beating and Valentine, whose constant rap is a blazing mixture of beat poetry, word associations, silly puns and manic babble, treats Shy to a plateful of donuts and a drink. Valentine plays the perfect Ratso Rizzo to Shy's Joe Buck, and by the next afternoon they're inseparable. Valentine introduces Shy to her equally flaky housemate, Billie (Stanya Kahn), and the trio swig tequila and Tab, hot-wire cars and vandalize vending machines. Shy still dreams of buying a gun and pulling that big score, but her priorities change as Val grows increasingly unstable. Her scattershot search for her birth mother is going nowhere, and what first passed for eccentricity has begun to resemble full-blown mental illness. That both leads are technically women who've redefined their genders as something less specific is entirely beside the point; Dodge and Howard offer up their characters with refreshing nonchalance. No excuses, no explanations — you either accept them for who they are or you don't. But time spent watching Shy and Valentine horsing around on rooftops (to the admittedly terrific soundtrack composed by Carla Bozulich, of the late, lamented L.A. band the Geraldine Fibbers) is time wasted, despite the terrific chemistry between SF performance-scene fixtures Howard and Dodge, who also wrote and directed. This unique film is at its best when it simply allows them to bounce ideas and dialogue off each other. Look for uber-grrrl Joan Jett in a small but pivotal role.