Empire Records boasts a half-dozen actors and actresses who were on the cusp of becoming majors stars -- and not a whole let else. In a true case of the inmates running the asylum, the titular record shop employs no less than 173 more snotty teenagers than it could possibly need, all geared toward PG-rated rebellion, dancing on the counters during business hours, and Seattle-influenced grunge. But this is no Singles, no Dazed and Confused (which also featured Rory Cochrane), nor even Pump Up the Volume, a previous effort of director Allan Moyle. It's closest in spirit to Kevin Smith's Mallrats, in that it's an over-crowded misfire that thinks it's cleverly defining a generation, and shows the strain at every seam. There's as little explanation as to why store manager Joe (Anthony LaPaglia) doesn't fire employee Lucas (Cochrane) for gambling away 9,000 dollars on the first night he was left in charge as there is why Corey (Liv Tyler) has a distressed infatuation with a has-been musician signing autographs (Maxwell Caulfield), who resembles '50s icon Fabian a lot more than the type of unkempt rocker a 1990s teen might actually fancy. Tie it all together with overly topical "teen problems" that reach quick boiling points, and you've got Empire Records. Since it's too hard to list all the film's problems, it might be best to develop an organized system, such as filing them by genre, under the artist's name. But that would be an even greater waste of time than the movie.