Do not watch this movie before operating heavy machinery. Though technically competent in many respects, Luckytown is positively soporific. It is dull and slow and lifeless. Kirsten Dunst is cutely sunny as always, but James Caan spends the entire film looking and sounding like he needs a megadose of anti-depressants. I almost had to jab myself in the groin with a hot cigarette lighter to stay awake through this thing.
Charlie Doyles (James Caan) is an aging gambler who's returned to Las Vegas to take on his old rival Tony DeCarlo (Robert Miano) in a high stakes, underground poker game. Lidda (Kirsten Dunst) is Charlie's teenage daughter. He ran out on Lidda and her trashy mother years ago, leaving them in Tulsa, Oklahoma of all places. Now on her 18th birthday, Lidda runs away from home to find her dad in Vegas. Along the way, she picks up Colonel (Vincent Kartheisen), a long-haired teenage loser who fancies himself the world's greatest poker player. Yes, his actual name is Colonel. No, they never explain what the deal is with that.
As Lidda and Colonel do their thing of young love and Charlie and Tony dance through their brutally simplistic conflict, there are three other characters who kind of wander around until they end up dead. There's Sugar (Jennifer Gareis), a stripper who used to screw Charlie, is now screwing Tony and pretty much screws every man she meets as substitute for small talk. Rounding things out are Jimmy (Luis Guzman) and Frankie (Frederico Da Vinci), two thugs who work for Tony and hang around being all ironic and stuff about being murderous criminals.
Luckytown has a lot of naked female breasts and Dunst is always enjoyable. Those are the only good qualities of the movie. The rest isn't aggressively horrible, it's just boring as all get out. There's no energy to anything that happens here. Showing 105 minutes of an old man sleeping on a park bench would have more excitement and intensity. Much of the blame for that can be placed on Caan, who sleepwalks through every scene and monotones his way through every line. But the script by Brandon Beseth is devoid of interest and the direction of Paul Nicholas never establishes a pace or a sense of importance.
Yes, Dunst does end up as a stripper at one point. No, she doesn't take off her clothes. There is a scene where she's briskly walking and you can see the boobs under her shirt bounce up and down with enough force to kill a small mouse.
The only thing this film has to offer is that it might be able to cure a case of insomnia. Apart from cinema's contribution to holistic medicine, there's nothing else here.
Charlie Doyles (James Caan) is an aging gambler who's returned to Las Vegas to take on his old rival Tony DeCarlo (Robert Miano) in a high stakes, underground poker game. Lidda (Kirsten Dunst) is Charlie's teenage daughter. He ran out on Lidda and her trashy mother years ago, leaving them in Tulsa, Oklahoma of all places. Now on her 18th birthday, Lidda runs away from home to find her dad in Vegas. Along the way, she picks up Colonel (Vincent Kartheisen), a long-haired teenage loser who fancies himself the world's greatest poker player. Yes, his actual name is Colonel. No, they never explain what the deal is with that.
As Lidda and Colonel do their thing of young love and Charlie and Tony dance through their brutally simplistic conflict, there are three other characters who kind of wander around until they end up dead. There's Sugar (Jennifer Gareis), a stripper who used to screw Charlie, is now screwing Tony and pretty much screws every man she meets as substitute for small talk. Rounding things out are Jimmy (Luis Guzman) and Frankie (Frederico Da Vinci), two thugs who work for Tony and hang around being all ironic and stuff about being murderous criminals.
Luckytown has a lot of naked female breasts and Dunst is always enjoyable. Those are the only good qualities of the movie. The rest isn't aggressively horrible, it's just boring as all get out. There's no energy to anything that happens here. Showing 105 minutes of an old man sleeping on a park bench would have more excitement and intensity. Much of the blame for that can be placed on Caan, who sleepwalks through every scene and monotones his way through every line. But the script by Brandon Beseth is devoid of interest and the direction of Paul Nicholas never establishes a pace or a sense of importance.
Yes, Dunst does end up as a stripper at one point. No, she doesn't take off her clothes. There is a scene where she's briskly walking and you can see the boobs under her shirt bounce up and down with enough force to kill a small mouse.
The only thing this film has to offer is that it might be able to cure a case of insomnia. Apart from cinema's contribution to holistic medicine, there's nothing else here.