“You make plans. They fuck up, you get depressed,” groans Pete (rising star Chittenden) to cousin Jerry.

The nihilistic boys live in a social wasteland where they sell drugs, get drunk and shoot pool. There are mean streets, streets that Jerry has decided he wants to leave. He, in his own small way, is a mover. Pete is a stayer and will remain that way if the petty thugs and vicious drug runners he plays with have anything to do with it. When the boys fall for the same girl (Gillian Alexy) and Pete comes out on top, the real trouble starts. “Would you wear a condom if you raped a girl?” ponders one of Pete’s mates.

For all its merit, West never fully convinces as the Aussie indie-flick it so desperately wants to be. As blood piles up on the pavement, a fine cast does its best with dialogue that stems from the pen rather than welling organically from its characters. There’s a slick, self-awareness that has its visual merit but ultimately robs the film of authenticity, and as it shifts gears to ram home its moral uplift, too many plot turns have creaked toward contrivance.

West is also unremittingly bleak and funnels audiences toward disgust or pity, rather than an understanding of the boys’ plight. By the time we reach the final payoff, it’s in a place we’ve been to many times in similar, wrong-side-of-the-track yarns. This time, it misses its mark.

// COLIN FRASER