This big steaming pile is the most stilted, ham-fisted, clichéd dreck I've tortured myself with in months. Where's Leonard Pince Garnell when you need him--he'd relish this one. Oh, to have one tenth of the cash they wasted on this, not to mention dragging Liotta and Garcia down into the gutter along with the crew. Una grande pegacito de excreto if ever I endured one. Somebody tell the director that plausible dialogue and believability still have a place in storytelling. The big question is why? Why spend a year and untold money and energy on the beaten to death horse that another damn dope kingpin saga is? Bastante Already. When you drag the audience's noses through the sewers of TJ, there's got to be some kind of payoff. "Barfly"'s subject matter was seedy and seamy, but it had a certain redeeming lyrical quality. This thing is so bad it might stand up better as a comedy as you watch poor old aging Ray as an improbable hit man, eye shadow and lash extenders non-withstanding.
Review of The Line
