Passably tantalizing despite the complete absence of believability, the ambiguity for ambiguity's sake, the academic existentialism, and the booksy dialogue. (Paul Auster wrote the actual book, co-adapted by first-time director Philip Haas -- first time at feature-length, anyhow -- and his wife and film editor, Belinda Haas.) Credit must go in great part to the two principals. James Spader sustains a teetery balance between New York street rat (in voice and manner: ideal for the oily stylization of the language) and Southern gentleman (looks alone: prom-night ruffled shirt and bordered jacket, plantation master's sideburns, mustache, and tuft of beard), in the role of a self-described "professional card player" who finds himself bloody-nosed and flat-broke on the eve of a high-stakes poker game against a pair of easy-pickings millionaires. And Mandy Patinkin brings a steadying influence, with an even-toned but highly musical delivery, something like a Jacques Brel or Charles Aznavour chansonnier, as a high-speed drifter in a year-old BMW with 97,000 miles on it, who is now running low on his $200,000 inheritance and who offers to bankroll the gambler for a split of the profits. It would be unfair to tell what happens next, except to say that this minimalist movie gets swiftly down to business, and leads you into the bizarre a careful step at a time, so that you scarcely notice how far off the beaten path you've strayed. You will have plenty of time to awaken to the fact, but you will have other things on your mind by then. (1993) — Duncan Shepherd
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