George Huang directs Kevin Spacey, Frank Whaley and Michelle Forbes in this indie drama where a powerful movie executive bullies his new assistant.
“You are nothing! If you were in my toilet I wouldn’t bother flushing it. My bathmat means more to me than you!” Time has been very kind to this insider dark comedy. Whereas there are elements that shows its age (Whaley’s miscasting, the unnecessary discombobulated timeline to fake a twist is very post-Reservoir Dogs), the unwittingly prescient #metoo aspects and the fact that Spacey’s powerhouse Buddy Ackerman is an utter shit actually now chimes so well with his current reputation, mean this has lost little relevance over its 25 years. The bruising wit of the constant nastiness is pretty seductive. What probably started out as a calling card, a poor man’s The Player, now works as a Tinseltown Glengarry Glen Ross. If you are hitting that David Mamet sweet spot and allowing Spacey room to do what he did best then you’ll always have something pretty special on your hands. The first hour is such a haranguing nightmare of insults and degradations you kinda miss the bastard being allowed room to hit full flow when the tables start turning towards a resolution.
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