After the charming delights of Tucci's Big Night, this knockabout '30s farce comes as a severe disappointment. Its intentions are made clear from the opening credits sequence: with its style and intertitles recalling silent movies, hapless pair Arthur (Tucci) and Maurice (Platt) vie to play the 'death scene' for one of their cons. Two poverty-stricken thesps, they stow away as stewards on the 'Continental' liner to escape a charge of assault on a boozy, talentless English thea- trical knight (Molina), only for the great man to appear, cops in tow. This is distictly old- fashioned fare, with Keystone-age capers and dastardly disguises, pitched at the edge of self-parody, ham with egg on the face. In scenes that blend the worst of Agatha Christie with the ignoblest of Brian Rix, cameos come a-plenty, each more embarrassing than its predecessor. Plots hatch, robberies occur, deceit descends, lies are plied - our spirits flag.