How cathartic to create a road movie without a particular physical destination. Sure, Vincent Gallo's Bud Clay yearns to compete in a race in California, and it offers a sturdy through-line, but hardly any of that really matters in the face of complete emotional desolation, a broken individual confronted with dangerous choices just to once again find himself at a crossroads. It's less about the trek of the open road and more about the immediacy of abusive relationships, tattered wounds, and fragile male ego. What we find in Clay's travels is a man that we cannot understand or like or even acknowledge, but we can empathize, even in the most horrifying of moments. It's clear how and why The Brown Bunny pushes so many viewers away, but in the process, it allows itself to be vulnerable, for anyone who might be listening.