"Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" for me is a scary ride down memory lane--a collage of lonely desert roads, loud tourist shirts, institutionalized hypocrisy, hippy hair, white rabbits, knife-scarred waitresses, and bad acid trips.

I have to admit to enjoying the images of Johnny Depp creeping around a flooded hotel room with a lizard tail strapped to his backside and of devil horns protruding from Benicio del Toro's wild mane as well as the large blade the latter seemed to enjoy waving around. I found myself unable to leave this demented joyride, desperately needing to turn that next corner and see what monstrosity lay in wait around the inevitable twist in the road.

"Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" is a giant, drug-induced road trip. And who doesn't like a road trip? It very closely follows the book by author and journalist Hunter S. Thompson and is loosely based on a segment from the author's life. This film is funny and tragic with moments of abject sobriety. I'd take this psychedelic journey again. How interesting life can become when you are bold enough to live for the moment--and survive to write about it.