A Joseph Wambaugh-ish policeman-author, run up against a Himalayan-sized writer's block, collaborates with a professional hitman to expose a bloody corporate head. ("Corporations don't have people killed!" proclaims the much-to-learn author in the early stages of his researches.) Brian Dennehy, who speaks all lines the same way, with total conviction and with utter disregard for what sort of part he's playing, is fine for the policeman half of his role and negligent of the author half. And James Woods is mainly a ham, but an entertaining ham, as the sociopathic hitman. The latter character is used by screenwriter Larry Cohen as the prime outlet for his own quirkiness: when the hitman corners a cowering foe in an amusement-arcade photo booth, it's not enough that he slit the man's throat; he first has to deposit fifty cents to record the deed on film. There is little "psychology" in this, except insofar as it applies to Cohen himself. With Victoria Tennant and Paul Shenar; directed by John Flynn. (1987) — Duncan Shepherd
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