Movie Review: Less Than Zero (1987)

★★★★★

Less Than Zero is haunting in the best way. It really captures that lost, numb feeling of excess—beautiful, sad, and hard to shake.

Tara G.

North Carolina

Revisiting Less Than Zero for BoxReview.com, I was struck by how different it is from the neon nostalgia that often defines 80s pop culture. Yes, it has the fashion, the soundtrack, and the palm-tree skyline, but instead of celebrating the decadence of the era, it shows us the hangover that comes after.

Adapted (loosely) from Bret Easton Ellis’s debut novel, the film trades the book’s detached nihilism for a more emotional, almost moralistic approach. While purists of the novel might bristle at that change, the movie still delivers a haunting, often underappreciated look at the damage beneath L.A.’s sun-bleached surface.

The Premise: Friends Reunited, Lives Unraveled

Clay Easton (Andrew McCarthy) returns to Los Angeles after his first semester at an East Coast college, expecting a laid-back holiday break with his old friends. Instead, he finds his ex-girlfriend Blair (Jami Gertz) caught up in a messy relationship with his best friend Julian (Robert Downey Jr.), whose charm is overshadowed by his spiraling drug addiction.

Julian’s debts to a ruthless dealer (James Spader, radiating controlled menace) become the catalyst for a journey through the city’s darker corners, a journey that forces Clay and Blair to confront just how far they’re willing to go to save someone they love.

Andrew McCarthy: The Steady Center

Clay is intentionally the least flashy of the trio, a grounded outsider in a world he once belonged to. McCarthy plays him with a kind of low-key sincerity that works because he’s not trying to outshine the other performances, but rather anchor them.

In a movie filled with excess, Clay’s restraint becomes the audience’s point of entry. We watch L.A. through his eyes, both seduced by and repelled from the world he left behind.

Jami Gertz: More Than a Love Interest

Blair could have been written as little more than a plot device, but Gertz brings layers to her performance. She’s torn between loyalty to Julian, residual feelings for Clay, and her own escape into drugs as a way of numbing reality.

Her chemistry with both McCarthy and Downey Jr. gives the film emotional weight; it’s not just a love triangle; it’s a collision of shared history, guilt, and the desire to save what’s left of their youth.

Robert Downey Jr.: A Performance That’s Hard to Watch

Even among fans of 80s cinema, Robert Downey Jr.’s turn as Julian doesn’t get talked about enough. This isn’t just a good performance; it’s an unnervingly real one.

Downey channels Julian’s charm and charisma while letting you see the cracks widening beneath. His physical transformation over the course of the film from confident party boy to hollow-eyed addict is as disturbing as it is heartbreaking.

It’s especially haunting knowing how close this role mirrored Downey’s real-life struggles in the years that followed. Watching it today, you can’t help but feel the rawness in every scene.

James Spader: The Smiling Predator

James Spader as Rip, the drug dealer pulling Julian’s strings, is a masterclass in understated villainy. He’s not loud or volatile; he’s calm, almost polite, which makes him even more dangerous.

One under-discussed aspect of Spader’s performance is how he never once raises his voice. Rip’s control comes from knowing he’s already won. In a film about excess, his quiet confidence is terrifying.

The Look of the Film: Beautiful Decay

Director Marek Kanievska and cinematographer Edward Lachman give Less Than Zero a glossy, almost music-video sheen, which makes the decay underneath even more jarring. The poolside parties, sprawling mansions, and Christmas lights are all filtered through a hazy, dreamlike lens, a dream that’s rotting from the inside.

There’s a deliberate contrast between the bright daytime scenes (empty sunlit streets, cold blue skies) and the neon-drenched night sequences where the real damage happens. This visual duality mirrors the characters’ lives, perfect on the surface, crumbling underneath.

The Soundtrack: 80s Cool with a Dark Edge

Like many 80s films, Less Than Zero leans heavily on its soundtrack. From LL Cool J to The Bangles’ haunting cover of “Hazy Shade of Winter,” the music isn’t just background noise; it’s part of the film’s identity.

One thing not often mentioned is how the soundtrack bridges genres of pop, rock, and hip-hop, reflecting the cultural intersections of L.A. at the time. It’s a subtle but fitting choice for a movie about a city (and generation) in flux.

Under-Discussed Element: Holiday Setting, No Holiday Spirit

While it’s technically set during Christmas, this is no feel-good holiday movie. The seasonal backdrop is used ironically Christmas lights hanging over pool parties, Santa hats at drug-fueled gatherings, and “Merry Christmas” ringing hollow in the midst of personal collapse.

That juxtaposition is one of the film’s smartest choices. It’s not about holiday cheer; it’s about the emptiness that can lurk behind the season’s forced joy.

Why Less Than Zero Still Resonates

In an era where portrayals of addiction in media have become more graphic and explicit, Less Than Zero remains impactful precisely because of its restraint. It doesn’t romanticize drug use, nor does it turn it into an after-school special.

Instead, it sits in the uncomfortable space between glamour and ruin, showing how easily one can slip from one to the other. That tension — between surface beauty and hidden rot is as relevant today as it was in 1987.

Personal Take: A Pretty Face with a Scar

When I first saw Less Than Zero, I expected a sleek teen drama in the vein of other Brat Pack-era films. What I got was something more sobering. The style is there, but it’s in service of a story that doesn’t flinch from showing consequences.

It’s a movie that stays with you, not because it’s loud or shocking, but because it quietly reminds you that not everyone gets a redemption arc.

Final Thoughts

Less Than Zero is a time capsule of 80s L.A., but not the one on postcards. It’s a story about privilege without purpose, love without boundaries, and the steep cost of never growing up.

It’s not perfect; some of its melodramatic beats feel a little too polished, but at its core, it’s a haunting portrait of a generation caught between image and reality.