And the gray area of white bleeding into black, the particular area of interest of the filmmaker-within-the-film (Brooke Shields), who follows around, with a camcorder the size of a paperback, a group of hip-hop hangers-on from Manhattan's Upper East Side: "I have a vision," she proclaims. "I want it to be real and raw and honest." The filmmaker outside the film (but also inside it in the minor role of a recording-studio honcho) is James Toback, kicking around an assortment of sociological hot topics in a self-conscious, semi-improvisatory, completely chaotic style. Raw, for sure, much more than either real or honest. The bits with boxer and prison parolee Mike Tyson (not the smoothest of improvisers: "This is what I'm deciphering from your vernacular"), appearing as himself, deflecting a sexual overture from Robert Downey, Jr., and offering counsel to a plotting murderer, would make an interesting coupling with the muscle-flexings of Jim Brown in Toback's Fingers. The remainder of the movie, together with the remainder of Fingers, could be deposited without qualm in a dumpster. Claudia Schiffer, Allan Houston, Ben Stiller, Oli "Power" Grant. (2000) — Duncan Shepherd
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