A Pair of Aspirin for the Trauma
Some films surprise you. Others delight. Kicked in the Head just kicks you in the soul with a steel-toed boot full of try-hard whimsy and post-Tarantino hangover. It’s the kind of movie that thinks being “offbeat” means yelling non sequiturs, wearing a trench coat in July, and staring blankly into the void while jazz music plays in the background. This isn’t cinema—it’s a film school thesis project that got lost, found $500,000, and still couldn’t afford a point.
Kevin Corrigan stars as Redmond, a dim, anxious man-child with a beat-up face, a crumpled overcoat, and the spiritual energy of a knocked-over ashtray. He wanders New York City like a sad sack Holden Caulfield who’s been concussed one too many times, rambling about philosophy and purpose while getting punched, insulted, and generally ignored by a parade of equally insufferable side characters. You’re supposed to find him charming. You don’t. You just want him to get hit by a second bus.
Corrigan, who usually shines as a weirdo in the background (Pineapple Express, Goodfellas), tries to carry the film with a mix of hangdog charm and stream-of-consciousness voiceover. Unfortunately, most of the script sounds like it was written on a napkin during an espresso-fueled breakdown. Imagine a mashup of Woody Allen monologue and Clerks banter, but written by a guy who hasn’t slept since Bush Sr. was in office.
The “plot”—a term we use loosely—involves Redmond trying to make sense of his life after he gets, yes, kicked in the head by a stranger. Is it symbolic? Sure. Is it stupid? Absolutely. He stumbles through jobs, women, and awkward phone calls with his shady uncle (played by a tired-looking James Woods, who phones it in from an undisclosed location). Along the way, he meets a manic pixie-ish woman (Linda Fiorentino, once again gracing garbage with her presence) who exists purely to say things like, “Do you believe in bananas?” before vanishing in a puff of indie cliché.
Fiorentino tries, because she always does. She lights up the screen with her usual slinky intelligence, but she’s stuck playing a poorly written fantasy figure who shows up, flirts cryptically, and disappears whenever the movie realizes it doesn’t know what to do with a three-dimensional woman. She deserved better. Everyone did.
Also along for the ride is Burt Young, who yells a lot and smokes even more, presumably because he’s contractually obligated to play some version of “grumpy New York uncle” until the end of time. His role involves guns, vague threats, and general misanthropy. In other words, the only thing in the movie that feels remotely grounded.
Director Matthew Harrison (who also co-wrote this fever dream) seems to have watched Slacker, Mean Streets, and a few too many Sundance promos and thought, “I can do that, but with more voiceover and fewer likeable characters.” The pacing is erratic. The tone is all over the map. The cinematography looks like someone smeared Vaseline on the lens and said, “Perfect, now no one can tell we’re filming inside a dumpster.”
Even at 87 minutes, this thing drags like a wounded poet crawling toward a bar fight. You keep waiting for it to land on something—an idea, a point, a single coherent theme. But all you get is nihilistic rambling and an ending that suggests life is meaningless and so was your decision to watch this.
Final Verdict:
Kicked in the Head is indie quirk at its worst—aimless, grating, and hollow. It wants to be profound, but ends up being profoundly annoying. Kevin Corrigan mopes, Linda Fiorentino is wasted (again), and the whole thing feels like a hangover you didn’t earn.
1 out of 5 stars.
One star for Fiorentino, who could probably recite the ingredients on a cereal box and still seem compelling. The rest? Take the title seriously and avoid this movie like a flying boot to the temple.
