I can't call this movie utterly worthless because it does feature a beautiful and gloriously naked Amber Heard in several different scenes, as well as a couple of veteran performers who are fun to watch. Taken as a whole, however, I've gotten more enjoyment out of reading the ingredients on the side of a box of cereal.

Set in 1983 Los Angeles, this film is based on a novel by Bret Easton Ellis. But unlike Less Than Zero, an Ellis-based movie that was roughly contemporaneous to the era it was depicting, The Informers is a dry and as cold and as distant as an archaeological dig or a scientist studying something under a microscope. It also has all the subtlety of an incontinent badger, tossing awful 1980s fashions and hairstyles in your face and throwing up a 80s pop culture reference roughly ever 4 minutes. I nearly stopped the DVD before this thing was halfway through and did something more useful with my time. Like clipping toenails or plucking out some back hair.

This is one of those stories where we're all supposed to learn something by looking at the miserable, pathetic lives of a bunch of tangentially connected people. Graham Sloan (Jon Foster) is an aimless, drug-dealing college kid who spends his time either having sex with his girlfriend Christie (Amber Heard) and his best friend Martin (Austin Nichols) or lamenting the emptiness of his existence. Martin one of Ellis' soulless douchebags and Christie is basically just a hot piece of ass that winds up being another 80s pop culture reference. Graham's father (Billy Bob Thornton) is a movie producer that's trying to get back together with Graham's mother (Kim Basinger),even though he's still hung up on a local newswoman (Winona Ryder).

But wait, there's more! Graham's other friend Tim (Lou Taylor Pucci) spends the movie in Hawaii with a father (Chris Isaak) he feels nothing but contempt for. We also get the tale of a burned out rock star (Mel Raldo) whose wife is also sleeping with Graham's friend Martin. And we get to see the front desk clerk at Christie's apartment (Brad Renfro) get mixed up in a kidnapping and sex slavery deal with Peter (Mickey Rourke),a scary dude and the clerk's father figure.

As mentioned previously, the good of this movie consists of three things.

1. The nude and lovely Heard.

2. Kim Basinger's performance as a woman on the edge of emotional collapse. She only gets one scene where she gets to yell and carry on, but the seething turmoil she keeps going under the skin of Graham's mom is something to see. For an actress who was never much more than a face in her prime, Basinger is aging quite gracefully as both a woman and a thespian.

3. Getting to experience Mickey Rourke's charisma on screen. Whatever that indefinable "it" is that some people have and some don't, Rourke has it in spades. It's too bad that so many years of various forms of self-abuse have left Rourke so freakish-looking that there will never be that many more good roles for him. He's barely more than a cameo here, which is what his career will largely be from now on…unless he starts doing a lot of science-fiction.

Beyond that, and some good work in a bad role by the late Brad Renfro, the rest of The Informers is pedantic rubbish. There's no point to these characters, their perversions or their suffering. Billy Bob Thornton looks like he's acting under the influence of Prozac. Winona Ryder appears to have taken this job as a form of extended community service. The younger members of the cast have the appeal of frozen slabs of beef, which may be intentional but remains unappetizing. All of the disparate plot threads resolve themselves exactly the way you expect them to, occasionally doing so with a character explaining what the resolution is supposed to mean so the audience doesn't miss it. It's enough of a struggle to get through a stupid film. It's almost too much to bear when that stupid film thinks I'm stupider than it.

This is yet another one of those movies that leaves you wondering "Who the bleep thought this was a good idea?" It's not like the name of Bret Easton Ellis guarantees any box office or critical acclaim. There had to have been a lot of money, drugs and sexual favors exchanged to get this film made. Unless someone is willing to give you money, drugs or do that thing your significant other won't do, stay away from The Informers.

As a movie capturing a certain drug taking promiscuous 80s crowd in Los Angeles it has some value. A social document preserving excess just before AIDS. But the story is weak and the characters don't develop into anything interesting before the end of the movie. There isn't enough resolution to the stories. Especially the relationship between the central young characters played by Jon Foster and Amber Heard. He isn't that convincingly jaded - looks a little fresh faced. She is quite good at acting strung out and beautifully amoral. Kim Basinger is effective as a bitter unhappy wife. Billy Bob looks more wrong side of the tracks than right so maybe not the best choice. Good to see Winona as a mistress. She is good at acting unhappy.

Only if you are a fan of Bret Easton Ellis and his type of social commentary.

It's 1983 L.A. A bunch of privileged teens lose their friend who got run over by a car. Graham Sloan (Jon Foster) is the son of movie producer William (Billy Bob Thornton) and pill-popping wife Laura (Kim Basinger). Their family is completely dysfunctional and so is everyone connected to them. She's sleeping with Graham's friend Martin. William is sleeping with local TV anchor Cheryl Moore (Winona Ryder). Graham's girlfriend Christie (Amber Heard) is also sleeping plenty of men including Martin. There are also many other characters in and around show business of that area.

I don't care about any of these people. It's not necessarily the lifeless aimless characters' fault although they don't make it easy. These people are empty but not in a compelling way. There is also so many of them that each one feels completely scattered and unimportant. It's basically a bunch of hot, naked, drugged-out, pretentious and hopeless people in an emotional wasteland.