Critic's Grade: F

Now I know why movies like "Keys to Tulsa" are only released to limited markets. Think about it: who would go to see this movie? Better yet, how would the studio market it? Movie trailers are notorious in this day and age for giving away entire subplots and big surprises in less than two minutes; considering that this film possesses none of these, we'd get little more than a mishmash of character conversations that skirt around the paper-thin plotline and focus more on the sensationalistic elements like sex, drugs, and violence. Normally I hate it when movies are only released in select cities; here, it seems more like a blessing than a curse.

The so-called story revolves around Richter Boudreau (Eric Stoltz), a lazy, good-for-nothing freeloader who has moved back to Tulsa for reasons unknown. He has a job as a movie critic for the local paper, but can't seem to find the time to step into a movie theater, much less sit down and actually write something. He lives in his mother's old farmhouse, where his attempts to court various local girls always seem to tank (in the film's only redeeming scene, Cameron Diaz makes an appearance as one of his would-be one-nighters who has a fear of the dark).

To make a long, boring, pain-inducing story short, Richter is sought out by old high school flame Vicky (Deborah Kara Unger), the town slut who's married to the town sleaze (well, at least one of them), Ronnie (James Spader). Ronnie places the witless Richter in charge of a small pouch that he wants hidden for safekeeping, and before you can slap a tick off of a mule's behind, Richter is caught up in a blackmail scheme involving the murder of a black prostitute, all the while dealing with the drunkenness of the sole witness to the crime, the advances of the destitute Vicky, and the crazy ramblings of her brother, Keith (Michael Rooker), among other things.

I'll be blunt for once: nothing in this film is the least bit interesting or intelligently crafted. The mystery surrounding the murder is hardly predictable, but by the time we find out who did what to whom, it's all for not. I blame this on the absolutely revolting characters: we have no single reason whatsoever to give one ounce of a damn about anyone in this town. Everyone we meet, including Mary Tyler Moore as Richter's marriage-obsessed mother, is so completely self-absorbed, lame-brained, disgusting, moronic, and corrupt in one way or another, that by the time all was said and done, I needed a Handy Wipe for my brain. Normally I would look at the talents of the cast as something to admire, but it's dreck like this that makes me wonder what narcotic they were administered before signing onto the project.

The screenplay was written by Harley Peyton, who apparently didn't learn a thing from this movie, seeing as how he was responsible for the equally miserable "Bandits" last year, which also featured a cast squandered on lifeless characters and turgid plotting. The director is Leslie Greif, who should stick to her executive producing job for Lifetime's "Intimate Portrait" series; her efforts here display almost no potential whatsoever. And then there's the concept of the title: "Keys to Tulsa." Huh? Were they so intent on coming up with something completely off the wall that they felt compelled to leave out any connection to the film itself? God only knows, and I'm not even sure He could explain such a wretched experience as this.

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