Grosse Pointe Blank is set in the '90s, but it has managed to maintain the cocktails, psychoanalysts and the air of thwarted desire, though the conventions of '60s romantic comedies stagger a bit under the weight of modern sexual freedom. The girl in this case is not a virgin but a divorcé, a groovy DJ who lives at home in the house she grew up in because her apartment "burned down on Demon Night." Her name is Debi (Minnie Driver) and she's about as close to the girl next door as we're going to get these days. The boy is Martin (John Cusack), a professional killer who's returned home to look for a little meaning. He lives alone, he works alone, he sleeps in hotels--about as close as we're going to get to a confirmed bachelor. The boy and girl haven't seen each other since high school, when he stood her up on prom night because he "freaked out, joined the Army, traveled around, and became a professional killer," as Martin explains, when his buddies ask him what he's been doing for the last 10 years.

Back in the '60s, sexual conventions delayed the coupling of the boy and girl until the end of the movie, since they had to get to know each other well enough to get married. That delay provided enough tension to carry the story, as well as adding a little spice and morality--good girls didn't do it, and there was always the danger that they'd be "taken advantage of." But without the luxury of these conventions, Grosse Pointe's screenwriters are obligated to come up with some other reason to delay the inevitable coupling of Martin and Debi (pronounced Deh-bee), and unfortunately, they do a half-assed job.

Debi keeps putting Martin off for superficial reasons, or for no reason at all. The two are incapable of talking to each other for more than 30 seconds, and when they do, they speak as fast as they can. The chemistry between Cusack and Driver is odd, and the romance is poorly written, which is a shame, because the rest of the movie has a lot going for it. The contrast between Martin's James Bond, hit-man life and the swank, suburban complacency of his schoolmates makes for some wry comedy, and the dialogue is fast, witty and just strange enough to be interesting. ("It was just as if everyone had swelled," Martin's secretary says, describing her own high school reunion.)

The plot is thickened by a flock of competing hit men who descend on the town to assassinate Martin. The bad bad guys (as opposed to Martin, who is a good bad guy) are led by Dan Ackroyd, who, as the psychotic, avuncular Mr. Grocer, plays the funniest role I've seen him do in years. He and Martin have a sort of hostile-affectionate, father-son, enemy relationship based entirely on duplicity, so that you can never quite tell if they're going to hug each other or kill each other. It's pretty funny, but the problem is that Martin and Debi's relationship has the same aura. In fact, all the relationships in this film are suffused with irony, which seems to be what happens when all morality is removed from a story. Martin explains he's not into the morality thing, and gosh, we don't even have Debi's virginity to worry about.