What’s funny about Summer of Sam and its obvious vacuity in regards to the then burgeoning punk scene is that there’re just enough almost spot on references to make it work.

Adrien Brody’s Ritchie character isn’t really ever introduced, he just rolls out of bed – surrounded by paraphernalia focused on the Who as opposed to the scores of NYC based punk groups at the time – heads down stairs snags money from his mother and hits the corner.

Greeted by low level Italian gangster types, Ritchie affects a Brit accent further separating himself from the tiny minded people he’s assumed to be running away from. Donning that t-shirt with a mod bull’s-eye doesn’t do a lot for the character either. What’s most ridiculous, though, is that there’s no background for him. He’s a (kinda) punk when we meet him, but clearly wasn’t a part of that subculture for too long judging by everyone’s reactions.

Either way, Brody easily passes as one of the neighborhood guys. John Leguizamo portraying Vinny still looks like a Hispanic guy. We could get into noses and whatever else, but that’s unnecessary. Either way, Vinny and Ritchie retain their friendship even as each is engaged with behavior the other finds questionable at best – and for Vinny that’s constantly cheating on his wife.

It gets to the point where Vinny convinces his wife to partake in an orgy, but is then disgusted by her participation – a catch 22 if you will. Of course, his other affairs eventually come to light and the relationship falls apart. This, though, is still all a part of the greater scenario in which a killer roams the streets.

But connecting Vinny and Ritchie again, is the question of sex and what’s acceptable. Whereas Vinny’s wife is chastised for being a whore, Ritchie convinces his girlfriend (already the avowed neighborhood floozie) to make porn films with him while he’s not working as a dancer at a gay club.

Ritchie’s behavior, though, gets noticed by those tough guys on the corner who eventually begin investigating him as the potential killer. It’s in this particular subplot – the examination of the cultural other – that Lee finds his footing. The entire film wasn’t a bummer, though. And despite its run time at around two and a half hours comes off as rather well paced for a movie like this. Whether or not it’s worth inclusion in general discussion on Lee’s work is up in the air. Maybe in a few years when the events portrayed here are even further in the past, Summer of Sam can be looked on in a better light.