Although they depict vastly different worlds, Slaves To The Underground and the recent theatrical flop Body Shots share many similarities. Both desperately want to define a generation (never a good sign), both feature extensive monologues delivered directly to the camera, and both deal, at least fitfully, with acquaintance rape. Slaves To The Underground is slightly better than Body Shots, if only because its characters are slightly less morally abhorrent, but neither film is even remotely worth your time. A dumbed-down, narrative-driven Slacker for simpletons, Slaves To The Underground follows a bisexual love triangle that develops when a member of an all-girl band (Molly Gross) leaves the group for ex-boyfriend Jason Bortz, much to the chagrin of lesbian ex-lover and bandmate Marisa Ryan. Beginning with a series of expository scenes designed to explain such Counterculture For Dummies staples as zines, all-ages shows, and "the cause," Slaves To The Underground gets virtually all the details wrong. Set in a Seattle where everyone's in a punk band, putting out a zine to fight a ridiculous series of straw men (right-wing radio hosts, sleazy A&R people), or working for The Man, Slaves is especially clueless and condescending because it thinks it's saying something important. Of course, it doesn't help things that Bill Cody's script is filled with dialogue along the lines of, "You were with him last night! I can smell his man-stink on you!" Things improve in the film's second half, as it drops the defining-a-generation pretensions for long stretches, allowing for a few simple, effective scenes. But Slaves To The Underground is still more notable for the many things it gets wrong than the few it gets right.