Director Harold Ramis' conventional comedies can be either tremendously funny (Groundhog Day) or desperately unfunny (Analyze That). Representing a stab at much darker humour for the former Ghostbuster, The Ice Harvest is neither.

This is a crime thriller with a blackly comic heart in which each scene works fine, taken individually. But the whole falls flat as Ramis struggles to marry the caperish mentality to all the viciousness.

It all begins one Christmas Eve in humdrum Wichita, Kansas, when lawyer Charlie (Cusack) reluctantly leaves $2million of crime boss Bill Guerrard's money in the care of dodgy strip club manager Vic (Thornton).

The rip-off was Vic's idea and he insists that they should part ways for the rest of the night before jetting off with the spoils in the morning.

So Charlie heads to Vic's club for a drink. He catches up with alluring ex-flame Renata (Nielsen) but ducks out after spotting Gerrard's henchman asking questions at the bar.

Vic advises him to keep a low profile, but that ploy immediately hits a snag when Charlie is forced to look after his inebriated friend Pete (Platt). Pete is married to Charlie's ex-wife and their hatred of her bonds them.

Excruciating family dinners he can endure. And police cars do have a habit of appearing at the most inopportune moments. But Charlie's main concern is Vic.

Because anyone who locks a mob killer in a trunk with a gun simply cannot be trusted.

A common fault with modern noir thrillers is that they try to be too cunning; this one suffers from the opposite. It has almost no twists.

The double-crosses are obvious and, Cusack's luckless stooge apart, the characters are disappointingly what-you-see-is-what-you-get.

Randy Quaid makes the most of his single scene as gangster Gerrard, but Nielson and Thornton (bah-humbugging Christmas again after Bad Santa) are underserved by lazily scripted roles.

It has its moments, but ultimately The Ice Harvest will leave a lot of people cold.

Elliott Noble