Tom Cruise, in the role of a high-flying sports agent who belatedly finds some scruples ("Who had I become? Just another shark in a suit?") and in consequence loses all his clients but one, is more tightly wound than usual. And he comes more thoroughly, rapidly, and frequently unwound than usual, too. Hence, or partly hence, the critical rumble about his Best Performance Ever. (Most Rotations Ever, at the least.) Newcomer Renee Zellweger as the romantic interest -- a schoolgirlish single mom -- has her moments of charm, and she even has her vestiges of innocence, despite a resemblance to former porn star Traci Lords: lips in constant readiness for a kiss. Neither Cruise nor writer-director Cameron Crowe, whose specialty is refrigerated goo (Say Anything, Singles), comes across as the sincerest spokesman for human values above filthy lucre. Human values before filthy lucre perhaps, but filthy lucre sooner or later, please, and plenty of it. Scruples, it would appear, are all very well for plot complications, but not for happy endings. Cuba Gooding, Jr., as the hero's sole remaining client, an undersized wide receiver with an oversized ego, is aggressively ingratiating; and Bonnie Hunt, as the heroine's wise and wistful older sister, is unaggressively so. (1996) — Duncan Shepherd