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The Goonies

Warner Current in Video

114 mins. · PG

16×9 · 2.35:1

English, French, Spanish, Portugueseortuguese

Commentary Track, Making Of Featurette, Cyndi Lauper Music Videos, Deleted Scenes

Josh Brolin, Corey Feldman, Joe Pantoliano, Sean Astin
The Goonies
A fan-favorite and a late immigrant on DVD, Richard Donner?s "The Goonies" is for all making its DVD appear as a reassuring Special Edition. Being almost a master-work of the 80s, certainly this film deserves nothing but the most skilfully, and considering the Steven Spielberg held back this gem recompense a long often makes you expect nothing but the most beneficent. No gawk I was eager to check revealed this save when it landed on my desk and filled with anticipation I gave this disc from Warner Core Video a unmixed check-up.

A group of suburban children are desperate suited for some try one’s luck. Riding bikes and watching TV honest doesn?t cut it any more, so while going through long forgotten stuff in the attic, they find a map – the map to a occult treasure of Limerick-Eyed Willie, a mysterious plagiarizer. Smelling the adventure of a lifetime, they immediately primed afoot to uncover the treasure and call up themselves in a rambunctious adventure that is no mere child?s play. Chased by criminals, exploring underground tunnels larded with deadly boobie traps they slowly make their way promoting their goal – to find the cryptic pirate wind-jammer with all its treasures.
The DVD also contains the original 7-up to date "Making Of" promo featurette that was produced when the film was from the first released. Featuring some interviews and lots of behind-the-scenes footage, the featurette is an intoxicating addition that gives viewers a glimpse at how hard it be required to have been to coordinate and wrangle a collection of seven rascals to make a oustandingly budget big such as this. While again it does not reveal any specialized low-down, it is an pleasurable joint well worth watching.

The DVD also contains outtakes, three deleted scenes, which are assembled together, including the infamous Octopus scene. Upon watching them it is evident why they have been deleted. The octopus sphere doesn?t work and borders on the ridiculous, while the other scenes don?t add anything to the film. Still, they are playfulness to see and certainly build a great appendix to the disc.
"The Goonies" is a great adventure large screen for children and grown-ups similar to one another and this DVD makes watching it more pastime than ever. In a beautiful presentation with great video and audio, this DVD is a flower. The supplements are fun and clearly targeted at customarily viewers, which is absolutely arrogate for this particular publish. With this release, Warner Home Video then again stresses how knowledgeable the studio is in providing top-notch DVD releases, so don?t miss your unpremeditated to relive "The Goonies."

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This unmistakable satire on the world of children’s TV written by Adam Resnick, who worked on Seinfeld and Larry Sanders, went straight to video in Britain (where, regrettably, it had tolled the sepulture bell of FilmFour). Williams is a disgraced kids’ entertainer. His later slot has been filled by Norton’s pink rhino Smoochy – or, as Williams has it, ‘bastard son of Barney’. A revenge campaign is launched against the pudgy purple rhino. Filled with superb, heartless, lyrical oneliners, DeVito’s dusting then goes over-the-top – note Pam Ferris as an Irish mobster or Harvey Fierstein as an underworld ‘fixer’. Mollify, there’s enough cruelty and obscurity temper to cheer fair and square the most cynical.

A rudderless mystery that aims to reinvent Boys Own treasure-hunt yarns in search fresh tastes, “The Nautical Chart’s” leaking plotline struggles to keep the pic afloat. Despite go-for-it perfs from reliable Spanish vets Carmelo Gomez and Aitana Sanchez-Gijon and outstrip production values — particularly Javier Aguirresarobe’s lavish lensing — pic is plodding fare that moves predictably from set lose control to set piece but lacks dramatic undertow. Like last year’s biggest Spanish entreat “Alatriste,” “Chart” is based on effective use by popular correspondent Arturo Perez-Reverte and home B.O. has benefit been fine. But, pic looks unlikely to dock at many offshore harbors.

Tanger Soto (Sanchez-Gijon) outbids Italian crook Nino Palermo (Enrico Lo Verso) and Argentinean Kiskoros (Gonzalo Cunill) for a valuable 18th century maritime atlas at a Barcelona auction. Afterward, unemployed sailor Coy (Gomez) steps in when he sees Palermo threatening Tanger, and ends up following Tanger to the Madrid naval museum where she works.

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When Coy spots an error on the atlas map, Tanger reveals she bought the document because she believes it might lead her to a brigantine that sunk off Spain’s southern coast.

Tanger offers Coy a job helping her locate the ship, and Coy agrees, having fallen for Tanger hook, line and sinker. The duo takes off with Palermo and Kiskoros trailing them.

With the aid of an old buddy of Coy’s (Javier Garcia Gallego), they search for the ship, which Palermo tells Coy contains a treasure of emeralds.

Another revelation, well into pic’s second half, renders the previous 30 minutes implausible: Someone in Tanger’s position would never have made the kind of error that the plot depends upon at this point.

Although the lead thesps inject life into the basically cardboard roles, Sanchez-Gijon lacks the air of danger that would have made her femme fatale convincing.

Lensing takes good advantage of the striking coastline and seascapes of southern Spain and includes swooping aerial shots as well as some impressive underwater footage. Much time is dedicated to an entirely superfluous voiceover from Coy.

Manufacture for a whacked-out lovefest as the underground Cult of Perv tries to ballade (ahem) their hands on Pervirella in this kinky, vie de Boheme in the back buck, erotic British comedy. Inspired by the likes of Modesty Blaize, Barbarella, Vampirella and Gwendoline, Alex Chandon and Josh Collins grow a bizarre world where a tyrannical and decaying queen, surviving only by artificial means, rules the earth of Condon, a rooms where sexual depravity is forbidden. The Cult of Perv exists as an seditionaries organization, headed by inseparable of the queen’s own family, perpetuating queer delights and forbidden fetishes in quietly. Their rule of the way of life can be achieved by unleashing the ultimate power of sexuality, embodied by a young girl (Emily Bouffante) who has had the power handed down to her genetically. Merely a sacred fetish restrains her unbridled passions, which are too intense in place of any unappeasable control to endure.

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The queen’s survival requires the ingestion of an ancient elixir institute only in the wilds of Amazonia, and here too lies the sacred seed that can set Pervirella free from her inherited disadvantage. An expedition is mounted to cover the elixir, but unknown to its participants, there are evil forces amongst them, manifest to tear Pervirella’s guardians, and catch the girl’s mythical libido, so it can work for the Cult of Perv.

Thither the globe they go, facing all manner of vulnerability, from monsters&#8212expert in the art of self-gratification&#8212to the writhing rituals of the Amazonian societies. Only Pervirella’s passionate and lethal power can save her from the grips of perversion.

Fans of low budget, quasi-filthy B films should net a kick out of this little production. The rare effects are purposefully abundant in the cheese factor, utilizing a plethora of miniatures and models which are designed to look sham, down to their very noticeable wires that dangle an assortment of airships across the select. Sets are stuffed with gaudy props and gadgetry, which partnership the gloriously kitsch costuming and freakshow lighting. It is earnestly to pinpoint a style here, but if you mascerate a Terry Gilliam-on-acid sense of machinery and atmosphere, a Bad Taste-cycle Peter Jackson sense of gouge, with bathroom humor and knockoffs of Really Gordon, you’d be in the ballpark. The characters are all equally through-the-choicest: the decaying Queen Victoria , who gives birth on an hourly basis; the conniving Sexton Ming (aka Anthony Waghorne, who plays the entire Royal Family); Professor Rumphole Pump (Bruce Brand) and Pervirella herself, adorned in pink feathered boas. There is ample nudity and suggestiveness, and an abundance of menacing prostheses and general tastelessness. Certainly well beyond the mainstream in terms of audience, but there is some strange cultivation to be gleaned for those with an appetite for Dadaistic.

The Movie

There's much to admire about Leonard Kastle's gritty
true-life thriller

The Honeymoon Killers

. The 1970 film is
indicative of the stylistic shift Hollywood films took as they entered a new era
of gritty realism, especially in the face of the stilted, epic,
melodramatic filmmaking the characterized mainstream film over the previous
decades. The acting is superb throughout, the direction taught and less
concerned with auteurist tendencies than it is with visceral impact. The tone is
both suspenseful and horrific, with a feeling of dread and foreboding that seems
to snowball larger and wider as the film progresses. The movie knows how to
develop sensations of sheer terror; one particularly chilling moment is brought
about utilizing tight close-ups and the sound of footsteps echoing throughout
the silence after a murder — of a child. Filmed documentary-style in
noirish black-and-white,

The Honeymoon Killers

seems
evocative of the pulp novel past while embracing in some of the
then-revolutionary filmmaking conventions of the late 60s/early 70s. The movie
is a heady, nerve-jangling trip into the seeming underbelly of picture postcard
perfect America.

But man, I hated watching this movie.

Hated

it!

Based on a true book, the film details the travails of Martha Beck, a dour,
portly nurse who lives a miserable life with her baby. She joins a "Lonely
Hearts Club" in order to ease the painful loneliness of her preoccupation, and engages in
correspondence with Bar Fernandez, a smooth-talking con man who exploits the
confederate by romancing single ladies and stealing their money out from under their
nose. Martha and Spark generate a legal-life relationship, parallel with after she
determines his world: he cons her thoroughly of her spondulix, but she tracks him down,
smooth in infatuation with him. Working in tandem, they scenario to con women together by
traveling around the territory as brother and sister. Flicker does the romancing while
Martha watches from the shadows in cold, seething fume. Eventually, their cons
grow larger and so involved that they end up murdering their victims in order to
support their net.

Originally primed as a directing instrument for Martin Scorsese (who left the
project proper to creative differences),

The Honeymoon Killers

is
not a bad movie by any means, but I still loathed watching it ? mainly because
of how it made me feel. I needed to lead a shower at least three times during my
discuss screening. The principal actors, Shirley Stoler and Tony Lo Bianco, are
so pick-perfect as Martha and Ray that it's positively atrocious. Ray
has the smoothness and the loquaciousness down pat, but from every angle he's
not in the least any more than a other-rate hustler. Martha is barely more than seething,
flighty fulminate, brimming with jealousy and obsession, never hesitant to kill a
victim, all for the love of her man. These characters are so real, so true to life, so
beneficent and recognizable in their viciousness and utter turn up one’s nose at as a replacement for human flavour
that identical feels positively violated just by watching it.

That's not to roughly that

The Honeymoon Killers

is a defective silver screen;
it's not. It's a certain extent admirable in too many ways — I believe in everything I
wrote in the first paragraph — and brilliant in varied others. But the darkness,
the recognizable and tangible evil that permeates this flick is so inescapable it
lingers long after the flick picture show ends.

The Honeymoon Killers

is
undeniably a knockout, a horrific beast of a film which snarls and gnashes at
the sensible part of your heed in which you still allow you live in a
civilized world.

A great movie… but I

hated

watching it!

The DVD


Video:

Criterion created a brand-new
high definition transfer in this DVD come out with, and the grandeur of the video is
degree remarkable. The hand on is presented in its original aspect ratio of
1.85:1 and has been anamorphically enhanced for your widescreen viewing delight.
The 35mm run off exposes a noticeable amount of scrap structure, giving the
over a fine, film-like appearance. The bad-tempered-and-snow-white photography is well
captured, with hot if not overly deep contrasts and a welcome absence of
ghosting or haloing. Sharpness levels seemed opposing; most scenes seemed generally
adequate if not richly detailed, while others executed themselves with
clear softness. Compression rattle and other transmission artifacts were
non-existent, while the transfer itself was smooth and reasonably liberal of debris
and disturbance circulate.

Audio:

The soundtrack was also restored
for this release, but it does not fare as well as the video. Presented in Dolby
Digital 1.0, the audio presentation suffers from excessive harshness and
distortion at the higher end. The soundtrack is hopeful and tinny, and overall
fidelity is unreservedly limited. Dialog is generally long-wearing but
occasionally muted in volume. I was a little disappointed in the
overall grade of the audio. It is certainly listenable, and affirmed
Criterion's reclame to detail when it comes to video and audio
restoration it's indubitably the best we could have hoped
for. 

Extras:

Writer/director Leonard Kastle
sat down for a thirty-Lilliputian

Interview

with film historian Robert
Fischer, and the results are fully enjoyable and communicative. Kastle is a
spry, pleasant presence who details the scrupulous history of the making of the
film, including his experience working (and parting ways) with Martin Scorsese
(who left the project due to what was viewed as his cloying perfectionism),
the film's visual sense and style, working with the actors, and the use and
influence of music and lighting in every part of the movie. It's a wonderful look at a
polished director who made one phenomenal movie and never directed
again!

"Dear Martha…"

is a text essay written by Scott
Christianson, novelist of "Condemned: Fundamentally the Squeal Sing Finish House", which
contains photographs and clippings from the grief, incarceration, and administration
of Martha Beck and Ray Fernandez, as intimately as a biography of both Beck and
Fernandez, reproductions of actual "Solitary Heart Club" advertisements, and
a specimen of the film's movie notice. The text is fascinating as it reveals that
the duo were alleged to arrange killed as many as twenty people during their spree,
as well as revealing the sleazy and tabloid sensationalism that surrounded the
case. This section in the end adds dimension to the film; while the film omitted
many rather chief details about the couple, the text here fills in the blanks
completely nicely. If you've ever been interested in "Accurate Crime" reading, this is
for you!

Rounding out the supplements are the film's original
two-minute 

Trailer

(in non-anamorphic widescreen) and a

Biographies

group that features biographical data for the film's
premier danseur cast and group (written by Criterion stalwart Bruce Eder), as well as a
reproduction of the film's original "Press Book."

Immutable Thoughts


The Honeymoon
Killers

is honestly a striking, well directed, meticulously scripted,
brilliantly acted, and thoroughly ghastly film. It's at one of the very best films
I've ever hated watching, and if that doesn't unreservedly volumes about what an
know watching

The Honeymoon Killers

was, it must be time
for pie. Even the presence of

Everybody Loves Raymond

actress Doris
Roberts — a verified comedic talent if there ever was solitary – did dwarf to
assuage my feelings for this vile piece of magnificence. I am in absolutely no
rush to see this talkie again anytime at once, but I

will

get the idea it again. If
you find that this post-mortem seems rather bipolar, then you've
discovered exactly how

The Honeymoon Killers

makes you
feel. You are at once mesmerized and repulsed, lost in both wonder and
disgust as the story unfolds before you.

recent movies

Criterion's DVD release of

The Honeymoon Killers

features a sparkling video presentation, some wonderful extras for fans
of the films, and enough background material to fill in those who are new to the
story of Martha Beck and Ray Fernandez (such as your intrepid reviewer was
before watching.) The transfer was quite enjoyable, especially in light of the
age of the film, but I was somewhat disappointed in the audio. Nonetheless I
give this DVD a solid recommendation.

The Honeymoon Killers

is
a great movie, but it leaves you quivering in both admiration and
revulsion. Like diving for pearls in a cesspool, there is exquisite beauty
to be found in this nightmarish filth.

By Purple

?Ice Lifetime 2: The Meltdown? isn?t afraid to be a cartoon. It reminds audiences that it?s okay for computer-generated features to convergence on the unwise slapstick humor as poetically as the technology that makes it. Mind you the fur and feather rendering in Ice Age 2 brought to us by the artists at Lewd Sky is as unmanful and fuzzy as CGI hair has ever been, but it doesn?t overpower the tooned up zaniness that prevails.

The core of the original cast continue their parts in this sequel, with a few new voices to fill gone the ranks. Dennis Leary returns as the sarcastic tiger Diego while new to the series celebrity, Jay Leno, adds his voice as an annoying Armadillo that gives a reach-me-down car salesman get pleasure from deem of the ending of the clique.

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At the center of the story, John Leguizamo is the torpidity named Sid, who really does hold the flicks together and keeps things emotive along retaliate when it?s being weighed down by Manny the mopey Mammoth voiced by Ray Romano. Thankfully, Manny doesn?t head-stay down in the dumps in the interest too extensive when he discovers that he isn?t the last of his kind. Survival and romance obtain to mind when another Mammoth named Ellie arrives on the scene. Queen dowager Latifah draws upon her experiences in the music business to stock out the responsibility of Ellie with her strong vocal style. Although she starts off with a two shakes of a lamb’s tail of an identity danger, she never is mistaken down who she exceptionally is.

And that?s sole of the core themes of the "Ice Age" series. That no matter who you are you can decipher a difference and serve the greater good by contributing what you can to the mix. Even if its sheer motivation as the Busby Berkeley treatment is handed finished to a bunch of hungry vultures, who eye our heroes while they sing ?Food Glorious Food?.

The pursuit of the ever-fugitive acorn stays as the Scrat creature lone objective in duration. In a sideline story of his own, the Scrats adventure runs equate to to the main chart line, interweaving itself at vital junctures. After a while, the Scrats dedication to his goal warms up his mangy hint, and by the ruin surpass you?re hoping he reaches the acorn just as much he does.

?Ice Stage 2: The Meltdown? is a warm and halfwit big that determination aid thaw out hearts into the reveal. Hoping we all get along as grammatically when its nonetheless for the human race to be archaic, suitable Movie Magazine this is Purple.

© 2006 – Purple – Air Date: 4/6/06

Reviewed by Dennis Schwartz

Canadian born Deanna Durbin at 16 stars in her second film for Universal
after her debut film hit “Three Smart Girls.” This crowd pleasing film
met with even greater box office success than her first feature, and put
Universal on the map as a serious studio–saving it from bankruptcy and
making Durbin very wealthy. Henry Koster directs and Charles Kenyon is
the writer; it’s based on an idea by Hans Kräly. Durbin shows off
her beautiful voice singing “It’s Raining Sunbeams,” “A Heart That’s Free,”
an aria from Verdi’s “La Traviata” and an aria from Mozart’s “Allelujah.”
Conductor Leopold Stokowski leads his Philadelphia Symphony Orchestra in
playing Wagner’s “Lohengrin.”

Manhattan trombone player John Cardwell (Adolphe Menjou) has been
out of work for two years. At the conclusion of a concert he begs famous
conductor Leopold Stokowski for a job, but is given the brush off by staff
members. Outside the theater John finds a purse and though trying fails
in returning it to its owner, and instead pays his nagging landlady the
overdue rent of $52. When his perky teenage daughter Patsy (Deanna Durbin)
asks him where he got the money, he lies and says Stokowski hired him.
When Patsy sneaks into the rehearsal she discovers the lie and at home
confronts her dad. Getting the address from inside the purse, she returns
it to the ditsy wealthy owner, Mrs. John Frost (Alice Brady), while she’s
entertaining her socialite friends at a cocktail party. At the party one
of the guests after hearing her sing “A Heart That’s Free” and her plight,
tells her to form her own orchestra. Patsy aggressively asks Mrs. Frost
to be its sponsor, and she says she might if she can hear them play. Back
home she gets dad and the other unemployed musicians living together in
a rooming house to form an orchestra of those who are jobless. They practice
in a garage, but after a few days when Patsy goes to inform Mrs. Frost
that the orchestra is all set for her to hear them she’s told Mrs. Frost
left for a long European vacation. When her husband Mr. Frost (Eugene Pallette),
who sponsors a radio show, finds out his friend Bitters didn’t pull this
sponsorship bit as a gag, he goes to the garage to tell the musicians he’s
not their benefactor and could not make money from an unknown orchestra
and that they should get Stokowski to conduct them for one night to earn
an instant rep. That’s when Patsy takes over to make the orchestra a reality
and sneaks into Stokowski’s rehearsal to confront him. After Patsy’s ejected
from the concert hall, the pushy girl sneaks into the conductor’s business
manager’s office and answers the phone and tells the musical editor of
a newspaper that Stokowski is not going on a six months European vacation
before he will conduct the orchestra of unemployed musicians that are sponsored
by Mr. Frost. To convince the conductor to go on Frost’s radio show, the
100 men unemployed orchestra sneaks into the great conductor’s luxurious
house and the shabbily dressed joyous men gracefully play Liszt’s 2nd Hungarian
Rhapsody.

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It’s all ever so cloying as it serves up dollops of sweetness, but
it’s entertaining, satisfyingly fairy tale-like and put over with much
skill. Its underdog theme was ready-made for a Depression audience. It
was nominated for Best Picture and won for Best Score (the winner Charles
Previn was father of Andre).

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I STILL KNOW WHAT YOU DID MODEL SUMMER


(1998)

*1/2 (out of four)

starring Jennifer Suitor-Hewitt, Brandy Norwood, Mekhi Pfeiffer, Freddie
Prinze, Jr.

screenplay by Trey Callaway
directed by Danny Cannon

It seems as though I'm reviewing cheeseball horror movies on a monthly basis now.

Scream

revitalized a genre that the studios are now intent on burying into the ground again–the serial killers in these new slasher pics have nothing on Sony and Miramax in the "relentless" department. The latest thrill-kill offering from the former,

I Still Know What You Did Last Summer

, is a terrible film in many respects, but in the wake of the stupefyingly bad

Urban Legend

, it's "Citizen Hook."

Jennifer Love-Hewitt reprises her role as buxom teenager Julie James, who apparently escaped certain doom at the end of the last movie by…waking up. She lives in fear of fisherman Ben Willis, the vengeful victim of a hit-and-run by Julie and her pals. Paranoid and beat, Julie accepts a free trip to the Bahamas from her friend Karla (Brandy Norwood), winner of a radio station's 4th of July getaway giveaway.

In the story's biggest mystery, Ray (Freddie Prinze, Jr.), bikini-ready Julie's plum-dumb boyfriend, turns down the invitation to join her, but changes his mind at the last minute and plans to surprise her before take-off. Until he gets a roadside visit from Captain Hell-liner himself, that is. Unaware of this and feeling shunned, Julie keeps her flight, accompanied by Karla, Karla's boyfriend (Mekhi Pfeiffer), and Will (Matthew Settle), a real boy-next-door type sweet on Julie.

To make a long story short–and I can't believe it took two paragraphs to describe the set-up for this gratuitous sequel–the vacation is a disaster. Not only is it storm season, not only is the desk clerk (


The Frighteners


' Jeffrey Combs) a creepazoid, not only are the few island residents and our heroic vacationers getting picked off individually by the resourceful Willis–the Karaoke machine is busted! (You think stalking and killing is hard? Try reprogramming a LaserDisc so that Gloria Gaynor's "I Will Survive" now contains the lyric "I still know what you did last summer!") All is not lost–Ray is on his way to save the day, and a helpful witch doctor is saying little prayers for Julie and company.

The picture is mainly about breasts: two of them. Julie, like a good horror heroine, never buttons her shirt to the collar, always wears white in the rain, and keeps sexy underwear on in case of a sudden desire to tan. Based on the hormonal charge I got out of the movie, I can't imagine what it was doing to the ten-year-old lad next to me–his generation gets Jennifer Love-Hewitt, mine got Heather Langenkamp! Lucky bastard.

I'm not a fan of

I Know What You Did Last Summer

and I can't say I dug this continuation any more or less. The pacing in both films is languid–how is it that so much time passes with neither murder nor character development?

I Still Know What You Did Last Summer

has a better sense of humour than its predecessor, however, and at least it explains away Willis' random selection of victims. (Surely the hotel maids were innocent to what Julie did last summer.)

Director Danny Cannon (

Judge Dredd

) is a competent filmmaker but not a particularly imaginative one; if there is, as the fun denouement urges, a part three (what on Earth would they call it?), here's a suggestion: hire a filmmaker with flair, someone capable of energizing this lame series beyond what it deserves–someone who won't abide by the shock note. And let that person run wild as with the camera as the villain does with his fishhook. (Aside: if Blandy [sic] must appear in the next one, try to keep the number of times she says "baby" to a minimum. Thanks in advance.)

-

Bill Chambers

© Film Freak Central; filmfreakcentral.net. This review may not be reprinted, in entire or in part, without the express consent of its prime mover.

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ublished: November, 1998

This solicitation of cliches accomplishes the virtually unbelievable by bringing the prison genre to a new low.

Nightmarishly structured, the film takes half-hour before Tom Selleck’s everyman, Jimmie Rainwood, gets wrongfully framed by two corrupt vice cops (David Rasche and Richard Young). Then he spends more than an hour in stir before he gets released to seek vengeance on the duo in one of the more absurd finales in memory.

In between, Jimmie gets a lesson in prison survival from the cell-wise Virgil (F. Murray Abraham), learning to do the previously unthinkable to survive the hellish conditions.

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A dour psychological thriller about a salesman’s paranoid attempts to circumvent his predicted demise, “First Snow” engages but underwhelms. Writing duo Importance Fergus and Hawk Ostby (“Children of Men,” with tyro Fergus at the directorial helm) sooner a be wearing crafted a nuanced character workroom whose wholly-chosen elements — the bedsitter, existential New Mexico landscapes, inventively detailed interiors, strong supporting players and a credible central perf by Guy Pearce — never totally gel. But the good-looking pic, opening a week after “Premonition,” may triumph as a worthy masculine-noir alternative to overwrought femme melodrama.

Pitchman par excellence, Jimmy (Pearce) has an eye for the main chance and an angle for every occasion. Peddling vintage Wurlitzer jukeboxes by day, carousing with co-worker pal Ed (William Fichter) by night and snuggling with live-in g.f. Dierdre (Piper Perabo) in between, Jimmy cynically dismisses mankind as potential marks or fellow con men.

A car repair strands Jimmy in the boondocks where, in a battered trailer, an old man (a hauntingly wise turn by J.K. Simmons) foresees his impending death sometime after the first snow — a forecast Jimmy initially dismisses, but one that gradually takes on an ominous credibility. Echoes of the time-jiggered Pearce starrer “Memento” reverberate here, as the terrifying future begins to color the present and unleash the past.

Anxiety and self-doubt unravel Jimmy’s narcissistic certitude, as a personality built on denial slowly crumbles. An anonymous threat evokes vengeful specters of people Jimmy has previously screwed over on his rise to the middle, chief among them a hotheaded protege (Rick Gonzales) and childhood friend and ex-partner Vincent (Shea Whigham), whom Jimmy cravenly sold out to the cops.

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Amid abstract discussions of fate and free will, Jimmy sinks into feral paranoia, followed by calm acceptance and last-minute stabs at restitution.

Jimmy’s attempts to aggressively forestall his fate ironically rouse the sleeping dragons he sought to appease. Vincent, recently released from prison and angered by Jimmy’s continued denial of responsibility, grows increasingly unstable, building to one of the pic’s edgiest moments. Yet it’s impossible to gauge the level of irony implicit in Jimmy’s quick-fix salvation,as helmer Fergus fudges the distance between Jimmy’s p.o.v. and the film’s.

Pearce physically makes the part his own, his long-haired, lean-and-hungry look a welcome variation on the Alpha-salesman stereotype. Yet, though he appears in every scene, he cannot fully pull off the pic’s moral arc: Pearce’s dour thesping lacks sufficient variety, his fast-talking con man only a nervous shift away from his cornered-wreck persona. In the absence of strong direction, the camera, like a teacher waiting for a recalcitrant student to produce the right answer, passively follows Pearce’s erratic peregrinations until he arrives at his destiny.

Action scenes, on the other hand, play out with a nice, nervous energy. Eric Edward’s widescreen lensing turns the landscape into a personage in itself, as changing temperatures presage doom.

Pic is subtly strewn with unobtrusive signs and symbols (Native American artifacts or the illustrated writings on the wall in Vincent’s room) that are never explained, suggesting unplumbed depths and back stories. Devorah Herbert’s expressively detailed production design, contrasting Jimmy’s impersonally spacious abode with Vincent’s cramped, cluttered lair, intricately mirrors the characters’ mind-states.