A bit like an old avant-garde movie from the Fifties or Sixties, this doesn't quite come off. It's a dull, dreary and frequently foolish film with tuppence-worth of plot, about a hitman (Anthony LaPaglia) who falls in love with his victim (Mimi Rogers), a woman who appears to welcome the arrival of death. First-time director Mark Malone manages to spin this one out to feature length with the aid of one or two supporting scenes and characters, but the philosophical claptrap spouted along the way isn't likely to make your journey a happy one. Pretentions are all very well, but they need more substance than this to back them up, and you may wish LaPaglia had shot the director instead. Rogers is good with what she has, and heaven knows it's precious little.

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