Sydney Pollack, back in the paranoia racket of Three Days of the Condor, of mysterious many-tentacled forces and vast invisible conspiracies, offers an au courant variation on the myth of the yuppie dream gone bad. And in this case, as in so many others, made right again by yuppie gumption. Overlong, at around two and a half hours, and rather grimly driven through the many pages of the John Grisham potboiler, the movie does well simply to make the plot convolutions comprehensible. It does not go the extra mile, or extra parsec, and also make them cinematic: there's a great deal to do with invoices, computers, photocopiers, fax machines, and other assorted white-collar dragons and broadswords. A rare exception is the extreme long shot of the almost-albino hitman (not the ideal candidate for the job: easy to describe, easy to identify) chasing down a monorail car on foot across the bridge beneath which it's suspended. The chase goes on and on, but the pot barely reaches a simmer. Tom Cruise, Jeanne Tripplehorn, Gene Hackman, Holly Hunter, Gary Busey, Ed Harris. (1993) — Duncan Shepherd
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