Lucky Day

The trouble is, apart from Glover's unforgettably weird contribution, "Lucky Day" isn't a particularly memorable offering.

That fortunate feeling runs out early on in "Lucky Day," a thoroughly unappetizing serving of regurgitated "Pulp Fiction" flung out by Quentin Tarantino's early writing collaborator, Roger Avary.

The film is crassly violent, inexcusably sexist, horribly racist, rampantly homophobic - and that's just Crispin Glover's character.

If you're one of those people who believes the Tarantino of today still needs to "grow up," this movie will provide an oblique but vivid insight into how much worse things might have been.

If anyone's going to get that Tarantino-esque vibe right, it might as well be one of the guys who invented it, and Avary delivers his select brand of snappy dialogue, cartoonish characters and cutthroat comic brutality with a sure hand.

A movie with all the bits and pieces of the Tarantino classic but with a tenth of the impact.

The movie feels pointless, an exercise in cliches and snark.

... mostly an incoherent mess of testosterone-fueled clichés and disparate comic tones as it stumbles toward a predictable final showdown.

The plot is a shambles, designed not so much to tell a story as to link together a variety of scenes in which someone mutters a few choice words after being riddled with bullets and before expiring.

The usual array of arch dialogue, oddball soundtrack cuts, wild gore and other weirdness, but none of it sticks.