You've got to hand it to James Woods. You can't take your eyes off this lethal actor, even in a mediocre movie like this crime thriller, which runs like a Clint Eastwood reject of a few years earlier. No matter: Woods dead-set in pursuit of the bad guys is still a fearsome sight. With tender moments he's less secure, though he's on his own with this dialogue. Spitting out four-letter words like spent bullets and slitting his eyes in search of any clue, Woods is the last man you'd care to have on your tail, as a maverick cop who can't even be dragged off the scent by his superiors after getting wind of a serial killer who inflicts appalling injuries on his victims. Even though Eastwood and Charles Bronson have been down these mean and blood-soaked streets before, Woods, as a man who does nothing by half-measures, makes them his own. The film's implicit anti-feminism may restrict the numbers of those who respond to it.

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