It’s 1988. Russ Richards (John Travolta) is a popular, egocentric TV weatherman (with his own private booth at Denny’s) who, after a bad investment in a snow-mobile dealership during a particularly dry winter, discovers he’s skating near insolvency; Crystal is a greedy, bloodthirsty
Pennsylvania Lotto ball girl who’s tired of doing “favors” for her duplicitous boss, Dick (Ed O’Neill); and Gig (Tim Roth)? Gig’s just your basic transplanted Brit who happens to own a thriving strip-joint. So, the three of them hatch a scheme to rig the State lottery in Nora Ephrom’s new dark comedy. Why doesn’t it work? For me, most of it did
. But one thing and one alone almost sinks the laugh-barge: the murder of the bookie
. Everyone involved in the heist gives the “hit” his or her full endorsement; nobody ever pays
for it. That two of the three involved not only get away but wind up wealthy says something very disturbing about America’s taste in comedy.