Chinatown writer Robert Towne clearly thought he was making the next Casablanca and while the star power is certainly there it all pours out flat like tainted champagne. Everyone looks beautiful but you could only hand on your heart say Raul Julia manages to make the words of the script come to life. I get the feeling Towne didn’t allow his top billed beauties to do anything more than recite his precious but clunky dialogue as accurately as possible. It doesn’t ignite and the lengthy marina ending goes around in circles. Some strange sex scenes and classy cocaine era fashions save this forgotten misfire.
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