The opening sequence of Self-Medicated tells the viewer a great deal, if one cares to pay attention. First, one may observe that the filmmakers behind the camera have a love for deliberate, sensual visual composition—framing, texture, color, depth of field. Second, one notices that the filmmakers have a similar respect for the ways in which sound and music contribute to the cinematic experience. Then, in much more concrete and specific terms, one may observe that the filmmakers know more about Las Vegas than just the Strip—and that they know a good deal about the white suburban teen experience in America.

Many films might communicate such things. What makes Self-Medicated rather arresting in this regard, however, is knowing that Monty Lapica is a first-time director of feature films—and a true first-time director, too, not an advertising dilettante like Tony Scott or Phil Joanou, flush with practical professional experience behind the camera.

Still, Self-Medicated comes across not as an experimental first film, resume piece, or trial balloon that happened to make it to market, but as the work of a competent and knowledgeable filmmaker.

Lapica’s screenplay tells the story of Andrew, a gifted Vegas high schooler who’s in a bit of a slump. Since his father died a couple years ago, his mother Louise has slipped deeper and deeper into dependency on prescription drugs—and Andrew his let himself become angrier and angrier. He’s pretty much stopped playing the student game, and only rouses himself long enough to show up his teachers. When things get tough, he immerses himself in loud music, alcohol, and hash. For the most part, the only time he enjoys himself is when he’s with his pack, out trying to score on whatever latest party or danger might be had.

With such a story, there’s two standard approaches: the classic tragedy, or the classic comedy—that is, Andrew is either going to die young, or he’s going to find a way out of the mess. Lapica’s semi-autobiographical film does us the courtesy of a tone that doesn’t exactly give away which direction the film is ultimately headed, and even the occasional genre convention (such as the platonic female friend and the angelic guide) doesn’t turn into a narrative silver bullet or a convenient deus ex machina.

In anticipating whether Self-Medicated turns tragic, the only real question for the viewer will be: how much of Lapica’s own story has found its way into Andrew’s?

So the film begins well, and Lapica delivers an engaging, non-telegraphed story. Does the rest of the film deliver on the opening’s promise?

For the most part, yes.

Now, I have to admit that my impression of a film is disproportionately influenced by the first ten minutes. Dances With Wolves, for instance, had me sold from the get-go because Kevin Costner, in his directing debut, had the cojones to philosophically and politically connect the Civil War with the Indian Wars, and because the opening sequence made logistical sense. So my critical radar eased off, and the rest of Costner’s claptrap went down pretty easily.

I don’t think I’m making the same mistake with Self-Medicated—which is by no means perfect, nor of Best-Picture caliber. In particular, Andrew’s second “escape” from treatment is a little sketchy and convenient, the closing sequences with his mother seem a bit rushed, and Andrew’s tearful final monologue comes off as a bit self-indulgent for a writer/director/star.

But the performances are all convincing, and overall, the film has the most realistic feel for the teen dilemma since Alpha Dog earlier this year. Andrew is the real deal as far as three-dimensional screen characters go—like most of us, struggling mightily in the tension between faith and anguish, cursing one minute to beat the devil, and praying fervently the next.

So how much of this do we credit to Lapica, and how much do we credit to the polished, veteran crew which his producer assembled? Only time will tell for sure. Costner, after all, has The Postman and other cinematic sins to balance out Wolves. Only recently does he seem to have become a fully mature filmmaker in his own right.

But both Costner and Lapica made this right choice with their debuts: hire competent artists, and trust them. And get your own vision securely in the mix. Good things will happen—and that’s no tragedy.

Self-Medicated is rated R for “for substance abuse, language and some sexual material.” That’s all there, sure enough. It’s worth noting, too, that those sensitive to Christian themes might be offended by the film as well. I find it odd that the MPAA didn’t note “thematic content” in its warning.

Courtesy of a national publicist, Greg viewed a promotional screener of Self-Medicated. Also see Greg’s interview with Monty Lapica.