What a cracker this is!
Bill Pullman just disappeared for a decade and a half, but here he is in his prime, a remnant from the James Stewart acting school of nonchalance. He really should have graduated to the role of troubled leading man, a jaded cop or something.
One would deem this an archetypal neo-noir, but your femme fatale here is the protagonist for once. The multi-faceted, polymathic, boozing, smoking, shagging, utterly obscenely ridiculous Linda Fiorentino running rings around every idiot she meets.
Marry me?
We also have J.T. Walsh and his sleazy voice.
And a jazz soundtrack that doesn’t feel like a desperate bolt-on feature.
Riot of a film.
Wanderings and ... wonderings. 