If ever a film was destined to polarise opinion, this is the one. An insider document of the weekender/raver lifestyle, with vague similiarities to Trainspotting and a thumping techno soundtrack, Human Traffic is extremely unlikely to translate effectively to those outside the chemical-generation culture.

But to those with some first-hand knowledge of the territory, it will almost certainly prove deeply hilarious. Set over the course of one night out on the tiles in Cardiff, the film follows the adventures of five endearing, pill-guzzling youngsters who live for their excursions to clubland, and takes us through all their highs and lows. The slang-ridden, smartarse dialogue that drips from their mouths incessantly is a joy to the ears, but it's the characters themselves that make the film so instantly likeable - not since Dazed And Confused have such a memorable and recognisable bunch invaded our screens.

The hero, Jip (John Simm) is a wide-eyed shop worker who suspects he might be impotent, and strives desperately not to fall in love with his best female pal Lulu (Lorraine Pilkington). His mate (Shaun Parkes) is a jungle enthusiast who obsessively collects records by "crack heads on Deaff Row', and suffers attacks of possessive jealousy over his girlfriend (Nicola Reynolds). Best of the bunch by far is Moff (Danny Dyer) - an elegantly wasted, motormouthed drug-dealer who will no doubt be adopted by thousands as a cult hero for years to come.

The fucked-up five convene on a Friday night, pop their pills, get refused from a club, blag their way in, and then . . . well, it's pretty hard to describe, as you may be well aware from your own experience. The more-or-less total absence of a plot is entirely appropriate, since the characters concerned are also losing the plot before our very eyes. The film thus attains something of the flavour of a spontaneous great night out with a gang of likeable lunatics, while the filming itself is appropriately druggy and the soundtrack keeps pace perfectly.

The film doesn't really finish in the conventional sense: it sort of comes down, by which time you will either have warmed to the characters for life or dismissed them as a bunch of chemical cretins. Either point of view is valid, but the characters' idealism, sense of fun and strange innocence recall Richard Linklater's finest creations, and the warmth of the film is so tangible it practically leaves you thirsty.

Even if Human Traffic eventually comes to be seen as little more than a dated document of dodgy days on drugs, its moment is now, and what a moment it is too. It's enough to make you miss the '90s already.