Slick, sick, seedy neo-noir, intriguing for diving into gamy territory, with Clint Eastwood’s New Orleans cop balancing life as a depressed single father, hard work in tracking down a serial killer, and indulging his own developing taste for hookers and kinky sex. The film has atmosphere thick as molasses, and throws in just about every Big Easy cliche short of voodoo curses, but blows it by sticking too close to formula at the end, leaving questions and plot details as unconvincingly curtailed as the baddie’s arm that clings onto Clint’s neck. Still in all, one of Eastwood’s better starring vehicles and a notable entry in the ’80s roster of grown-up thrillers, a now defunct genre.
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