The title ought to have been either hyphenated or combined into one word if it intended to be a noun. If it intended to be what it appears to be -- a verb in the imperative mood -- it might better have been changed to its antonym: Suck In. That, after all, would describe exactly what the movie tries to do to the audience with its tantalizing mixture of -- as every critic and his cousin have pointed out -- Antonioni's Blow-Up and Coppola's The Conversation, of Chappaquiddick and Watergate, of paranoia and conspiracy theory. The dramatic tension of this hodgepodge is somewhat dissipated by its derivativeness, its fast and loose plotting, its in-jokes about the schlock-shock horror movie trade, and its ponderous political ironizing. Still, it can revive your interest at almost any moment with its visual bravura, especially with some of the Citizen Kane deep-focus effects and some of the sizzling colors gotten by photographer Vilmos Zsigmond -- dark and juicy, like wet paint. John Travolta, Nancy Allen, John Lithgow; directed by Brian De Palma. (1981) — Duncan Shepherd
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