Those of you who were waiting so impatiently for the release of this movie version of Elizabeth Wurtzel’s chemically enhanced Weltschmerz will be as sorry as the film itself, although probably not as sorry as Christina Ricci, Jason Biggs, Anne Heche, and, especially, angry-mom Jessica Lange are, for agreeing to be in it. Poor Lizzie. The father who took her to see The Last Waltz when she was 8 years old is no more reliable than the razor blade she uses to lacerate her legs. Only Lou Reed can be counted on. Ricci, who looks part space alien, part American Gothic, is listening to Reed so she can write about his music and his electroshock in the Harvard Crimson, between the party she throws to celebrate losing her virginity and the depression she suffers that sends her to psychotherapist Heche. Besides Harvard, Prozac Nation gives writing itself a bad name.

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