I'm as full of ennui as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore, I guess. South Florida is to Kelly Reichardt what Cleveland and its environs are to Jim Jarmusch, both filmmakers taking advantage of their home turf to carve out slice-of-life indie debuts that display remarkable observational talents of the folks they hail from. In River of Grass we see why that Florida is the way it is- you know, when you see a whacky news story that begins "Florida man..." There's nothing to do and it's too fucking hot to do it even if you had something to do. In a movie that seems like a young couple on the run from the law hit the road kinda flick- it's too hot to actually commit crime, hit the road or really get too revved up romantically but Reichardt manages to make the meandering pace of the story quite charming.