If you're not a fan of Al Pacino then you might as well pass up on this schizophrenic tale of murder, megalomania, movers and shakers.

Pacino - who appears in practically every scene - plays fading New York press agent Eli Wurman, a man fuelled by spirits and pills who doesn't believe in cellphones.

Once boasting the likes of Montgomery Clift and Mama Cass on his books, he now only retains slimy movie star and political wannabe Cary Launer (O'Neal).

His illustrious client calls him in to bail out minor TV celebrity and loose cannon Jilli Hopper (Leoni), who's being held at a Manhattan police station.

After an improbable visit to a high-rise opium den, Wurman passes out in her hotel bath-tub while she's raped and murdered in the next room.

Bizarrely, the next day Wurman is up and about, slightly shocked by the killing, but intent on sorting out a benefit party for a group of Nigerians with visa problems.

Equally unconcerned are the NYPD, who put in a few calls to Wurman but don't actually trouble themselves to come and interview him.

All well and dandy - but it just so happened that Jilli's personal organiser contained some embarrassing shots of whiter-than-white senate hopeful Launer.

The sixty-something star of The Godfather and Scent of a Woman appears to be mutating into a shambling Columbo clone except - in this case - without the razor sharp mind.

Half-baked and totally implausible, the conspiracy is the sort of thing a toddler would dismiss as unworkable and lob into the corner.

Rather than provoke gasps of incredulity, the villains - when they are revealed - merely elicit a slight shrug and a glance at the watch.

Kim Basinger is miscast as Wurman's widowed sister-in-law and potential love interest - she seems too young and glamorous for the role.

Where it works best is as a character study for Pacino to work his charms on - but there's only so much time you'd want to spend with a burnt-out, alcoholic pill-popper.

Not the sort of people you really want to know.

Tim Evans