A prune-faced piece of erotica to do with a dweebish dot-commer (Peter Sarsgaard) who persuades a skinny stripper (Molly Parker) to accompany him to Vegas for a wild weekend on her terms: separate rooms, no kissing on the mouth, no penetration, four hours per night, ten G's on the barrelhead. The celebrated lollipop "scene" (celebrated on the posters if nowhere else) is so blink-of-an-eye and corner-of-the-eye that any interest in it will best be deferred until the viewer is in command of a rewind button and a pause button. If then. Thoughts of video, indeed, must overrule all discussion of Wayne Wang's biological bluntness and moral pretentiousness. The movie, so to call it, makes a very bad advertisement for the advancing wave of digital video, looking rather like a pirated dupe than like anything you might bring home from Blockbuster. That's progress for you: movies that look worse than videos. (2001) — Duncan Shepherd
This movie is not currently in theaters.