A messy, overlong, sunny neo noir that owns an ample amount of grime while offering up scene after scene of improv’d sleaziness, with Bridges just sweating and swearing his way through the back alleys, coke dens, and warehouses of LA. Surprisingly coherent, narratively speaking, given the numerous mishaps BTS, with Ashby slowly descending into a booze and powder fueled final state of being. One could view Scudder as an inadvertent piece of autobiographical pulp self-reflection, as he grappled with appetites that would eventually get the New Hollywood legend locked out of the editing bay (not to mention end his life). Still, the final shouting set piece is a marvel of bizarre staging, never feeling fully formed, but containing enough red faced rage to remain interesting. A real curiosity this one, that borders on being legitimately great, despite all its issues.