It's a treat to see Watson stretch her comedic muscles, chewing gum open-mouthed like an energetic third-grader and staring at the world with the inquisitive intensity that suggests either slow-wittedness or wheels within wheels within wheels. She even pulls off and makes charming the string of absurd malapropisms that make up Trixie's speech ("Do I have an ace up my hole?" "There's only one person besides me who knows what I did, and that's me."). The rest of the cast follow her daffy lead: Lang belies his would-be lady's-man smoothness by stumbling into every available wall; Rafferty can't decide if he's a movie villain or a tortured anti-hero; and the Senator is the most cracked and incoherent of all, babbling away in strange platitudes, meaningless politico-speak, and bizarre asides about sexual infidelities. (Nolte tears into the role with the bravado only he can muster, eclipsing the rest of the movie whenever he juts his cigarette holder or bares his teeth after downing a martini.) Alan Rudolph keeps things breezy, filming the proceedings with enough intelligence to keep your interest even in the slower spots. It's not one of the director's all-too-rare masterpieces, but it's good enough to remind you that he's capable of them now and again.