Neither does Alicia Silverstone, who stars as poor little rich girl Emily T. Hope (and who, as executive producer, made the decision to cast Del Toro). Nor does Christopher Walken as her protector, Uncle Ray. It's a shame the movie around them is such a shambles. Emily's magnate father pays no attention to her, so she fakes her own kidnapping, which goes awry when Vincent (Del Toro) steals her Beemer. Vincent owes the chief of the car-theft ring (Harry Connick Jr.) $200 grand, Uncle Ray is about to blow his cover, and Emily won't cooperate. It's such a typical romantic caper plot that we're going to see it again soon in A Life Less Ordinary. Likewise, there's nothing imaginative about the script by Max D. Adams or the direction by Marco Brambilla. The supposedly comic fights look like they were filmed by someone who had heard about slapstick but had never actually seen any.

Apparently, all the imagination went into the casting. Silverstone can still charm even with no material, and she fearlessly flouts every convention of hostagedom. Walken treats us to a sampling of his legendary talents, from quiet menace to full-throated song. And Del Toro is a true original; he underplays so deeply that when Silverstone kicks him in the groin, he barely moves. With his bizarre accent and mumbling delivery, he's only marginally understandable, and every few minutes he makes an unmotivated gesture. When Del Toro and Walken share the screen, fitful phrasings, non sequiturs, and unthinkable line readings reach a fever pitch. For those who love fine acting of the midnight-movie school, it's pure ecstasy.