When Spoon screams at her, she screams back in a monologue that expresses all of her exhaustion and frustration.
Elizabeth Pena plays an ER nurse who maddeningly makes them fill out forms while Cookie seems to be dying. Hall's script wickedly turns the tables: The clerks shout at Spoon and Stretch. In movies about stupid bureaucracies, the heroes inevitably blow up and start screaming at the functionaries behind the counters. If this movie reflects real life in Detroit, it's as if the city deliberately plots to keep addicts away from help. They circle endlessly through a series of Detroit social-welfare agencies that could have been designed by Kafka: They find they can't get medicards without being on welfare, can't get into detox without filling out forms and waiting 10 days, can't get into a rehab center because it's for alkies only, can't get the right forms because an office has moved, can't turn in the forms because an office is about to close. In between is the real life of the movie: the friendship of the two men and their quest to get into rehab. The daylong duel with the drug dealers and the encounters with suspicious cops work like comic punctuation. As the two friends discuss how to do it (and try to remember which side of the body the liver is on), there are echoes of the overdose sequence in " Pulp Fiction." What Tarantino demonstrated is that with the right dialogue and actors, you can make anything funny. Spoon, desperate to get into an emergency room and begin detox, persuades Stretch to stab him. That's especially true in a scene that moviegoers will be quoting for years. The movie isn't as powerful as it could have been, but it's probably more fun: This is basically a comedy, even if sometimes you ask yourself why you're laughing.
It's Spoon who decides to kick, telling his friend (in a line that now has dark undertones), "Lately I feel like my luck's been running out.'' Writer-director Vondie Curtis Hall, making his directing debut after a TV acting career on "Chicago Hope'' and other shows, combines the hard-edged, in-your-face realism of street life with a conventional story that depends on stock characters: evil drug dealers, modern Keystone Kops, colorful eccentrics. Shakur, the hip-hop star turned actor, matches that and adds an earnestness: In their friendship, Spoon is the leader and thinker, and Stretch is the sidekick who will go along with whatever's suggested. Tim Roth is a natural actor, relaxed in his roles, with a kind of quixotic bemusement at life's absurdities. The heart of the movie is their banter, the grungy dialogue that puts an ironic spin on their anger and fear.
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