It's not only Roger who's a dodger. It's also the cameraman: he feints, he zigzags, he bobs and weaves. (Under instruction, presumably, from novice writer-director Dylan Kidd.) Like Roberto Duran in pursuit of Sugar Ray Leonard, the spectator might want to throw up his manos and say no más. The sexual tutorial of a sixteen-year-old Ohioan (Jesse Eisenberg) by his jaded and jaundiced uncle (Campbell Scott), on a night on the town in Manhattan, produces a babbling brook of glib patter, delivered glibly. But what's the point of trying for punchy dialogue if the camera is just going to dance around it? Even if you could push the freeze-frame button, you would not have anything solid in front of you: wafer-thin faces slotted between a mushy background and mushy foreground, something like potato chips stuck in a mound of guacamole dip. With Isabella Rossellini, Jennifer Beals, Elizabeth Berkley. (2002) — Duncan Shepherd
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