This features as nasty a piece of wacko-scum-on-the-loose as Clint has ever faced. Unlike the last three Dirty Harry thrillers, however, in which Eastwood's pillar of the law has been unequivocal, his new creation, New Orleans detective Wes Block, is more steeped in the mire than any major US star has ever dared play. His quarry is only one step ahead of Wes himself in frequenting the jacuzzis, massage parlours, and S/M dives of the red light district; and while the cop/killer doppelgänger game is nothing new, Wes' taste for using the handcuffs in bed as well as out would have choked Philip Marlowe. A film about desire and its control is hardly what one might expect, but then Eastwood has always been Hollywood's most experimental star. And he's still one of the best. CPea.