There are some bright spots, if fewer than you'd expect from the star teeming in this too-seldom-feisty romantic comedy (with some sinister undertones) involving Nicholson as a sort-of-detective who loans out Alsatians to protect people, and Barkin as an opera star frightened of her own shadow, concerned about the Hillside Strangler and absolutely terrified when her apartment is burgled. That's when Nicholson, the dog and unlikely romantic entanglement come in, with all the complications in the plot being provided by Barkin's sister D'Angelo's memoirs, which notably blacken the name of mega-rich crook Stanton (in for an overdone cameo near the end of the film). Nicholson delivers his dialogue in low, deliberate tones, as if to reassure us that less is more. On this occasion, however, it would seem that less is less and Nicholson's approach only underlines the dull, slow quality of director Bob Rafelson's treatment of the Doris Day-style caper. Barkin, though, whether sweetly sultry or scared stiff, is really quite good.

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