Though set in contemporary L.A., this is an old-fashioned urban thriller (the Johnny Mercer tune, "Dream," as mellowly performed by the Danny May Orchestra and Singers, harks back to the correct period during the opening credits), with a tightly constructed plot, a low-key acting ensemble as smooth and well-blended as a group of madrigalers, a steady and unflashy job of direction by James B. Harris, and a light diet of human-scaled action. Perhaps the plot (a disgraced Treasury agent is given one week to bring in his partner's killers, while the killers are given one week to make good a fifty-grand debt) is too tightly constructed: some too-close parallels and too-high coincidences, such as the Fed and one of the killers standing unknowingly elbow to elbow at a row of urinals. And we could have done without the printed epilogue to tell us what happens after the plot is quite adequately ended. Among the actors, special commendation to Dennis Hopper as a tastelessly striped- or checked-suited con man who knows he is fooling himself but doesn't know if he is fooling anyone else; Viggo Mortensen as Hopper's sideburned and dimwitted protégé; Christine Elise as the latter's abused former girlfriend; Tobin Bell as a tight-mouthed counterfeiter behind bars; Paul Gleason as a wary bagman; and not least, Wesley Snipes for simply staying well below the boiling point. (1993) — Duncan Shepherd
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