Eddie Murphy had reached the 'can do no wrong' stage of his career when he produced, directed and wrote this foul-mouthed disaster of a film - proving that he could do wrong and in a big way.

Murphy's idea of wry wit and humour is a seemingly constant stream of invective and profanity (softened in the American TV version) and the derivative story (a cross between The Sting and The Cotton Club) holds no surprises.

Murphy doesn't showcase his own particular talents as well as other directors and writers have and the film also wastes the considerable comic talents of Richard Pryor and Redd Foxx.

If this project has any redeeming virtues they're completely lost under the frantic mugging of the cast.