Metacritic reviews

The film is amped up to insanity in its language (both verbal and cinematic), in its ironic embrace of teen-salvation movie clichés, and in its depiction of a small town as a ghetto hell. But just when you think they've gone too far, the Trost brothers 1) go further and 2) wink.

Think of The FP as the occasion for a party. You need to find a room full of people who get the joke and see this movie there, because audiences will be laughing so hard they'll be screaming.

Quite likely the most original dance film you'll see this year, The FP is awash in silliness that probably took ages to script, but the film's goofy heart and soul (yes, it has one) is what sticks with you in the end and makes this crazed film into a potential cult-movie masterpiece.

The FP feels like a junky, disposable lark, created for a midnight audience to swallow, belch, and forget about the next morning.

This unabashedly derivative, vaguely post-apocalyptic riff on well-worn '80s-movie tropes plays its boilerplate premise with endearing earnestness, but runs thin in no time.

The film has an effective synthesizer score by George Holdcroft. It also offers some funny bits (a hokey prechampionship workout montage, a ridiculous gunfight), but not enough. And for such a film, its bargain-basement production values and lack of wit unexpectedly prove a greater liability than an asset.

Infinitely better as a beer-goggled pitch than as a feature film, The FP never gets beyond the studied novelty of its own pose.

The FP has a one-note joke of a conceit, and when that runs out, it has few actual jokes to fill the humorless void.

This purposefully bad dystopian gangsta drama - imagine a "Boyz 'n the Hood,'' "Mad Max,'' and "Breakin' 2: Electric Boogaloo'' mash-up - simply fails.

The FP so desperately wants to be cultishly admired for its bad-taste rollout of wacko characters, ugly costumes and vulgar slang that it forgets to be genuinely offbeat or funny.