I'm actually too drained to write this review -- bad movies always do that to me -- but I feel obligated, as if it's my civic duty, to warn anyone who might be considering purchasing or viewing this god-awful mess-of-a-picture. Please, please, just take my word: this is one you'll want to stay away from. It's so boring and dull, so insipid and uninspired, such a poor excuse to assemble any familiar talent. Burt Reynolds? Wasted (despite his best efforts). Ice-T is barely in the film, and when he does appear on screen his performance is so restrained and muted that it becomes crystal clear that the director, perhaps intimidated by Ice's intense stare, didn't know what to do with him. Rob Lowe, as the title character, has never displayed so little on-screen charisma. Mario Van Peebles should be ashamed of himself; his performance is, in the saddest sense possible, a joke. Surely, Satan himself signed Mario's check for this film. The plot is as weak, half-baked and annoying as all the music involved (the utterly boring club song seems to continue on, literally, for the first third of the movie). The film's look will prompt one to seriously wonder if the Director of Photography was also forced, like one of the film's forgettable female characters, to smoke crack from a pipe duct-taped to his mouth. And if you're looking, at least, for stylized, shoot-'em-up-type violence you'll get none here. This film, I assure you, I promise you, has Absolutely no redeeming qualities! Please, I implore you, Avoid this Flick! Don't put it in and get suckered into believing that its pace will pick up, it'll get better, and evolve into a decent denouement. It won't. It don't. It can't! It sucks! Now, you have been warned, and I can now go to bed (It's 3am - please forgive any resulting errors this admonition might contain) -- knowing my conscience is clear, because I've done my civic duty for my fellow man!