As a filmmaker, Robert Duvall displays the same affection for obdurately eccentric behavior that he shows in his performances. Angelo Evans, the tiny, precocious gypsy boy for whom the film has been constructed, is a man-child aimed straight at the heart of 1980s sentimentality, but around him Duvall has assembled a collection of friends and relatives (apparently playing themselves) who create a sense of exaggerated, almost hammy authenticity. Though Duvall invites a condescending affection for the characters, the film also preserves a Scorsese-like sense of the sinister and mysterious that prevents it from becoming excessively cuddlesome. In matters of storytelling, Duvall is a genuine naif who allows his thinly conceived plot line to degenerate into cinema-verite confusion; inadvertently, the film has a lot to say about the fine line between fiction and documentary.