Bruce Willis returns to the Die Hard formula here with the kind of tough pulp fiction with which people most identify him.

It's a film full of sadistic violence, voluptuous undressed women, tough-talking Willis wisecracks and a storm of bad language.

Bullets, blood and guts fly everywhere.

Willis plays a washed-up secret service man, now a shabby, unshaven private eye.

Handed a case by his partner, Willis drives home fast to find partner bedding Willis' wife.

Partner exits in a car which promptly blows up, the first piece in the jigsaw of a multi-million dollar case involving legalising certain forms of gambling.

Willis gets beaten up a lot, but (for once logically) never rubbed out, as the villains suspect he has something they want.

One civilised nasty offers to effect introductions. 'Who cares? ' asks Willis. 'You're the bad guy, right?'

It's the kind of weary humour Willis was beginning to make his own.

Somewhere in there is Willis' foul-mouthed 13-year-old daughter, played with great confidence by Danielle Harris, who more than once pulls Daddy out of a hole.

The action is terrific and the bad guys pretty horrible. It's like an old Bogart movie with an adult certificate and a multi-million dollar budget.