A love-on-the-lam movie about credit card fraud, with guest zombies and second-rate leads playing out a totally charmless fiction in one and a half locations. The money is plastic but the love, eventually, is true: he (Henry) is a balding cocktail pianist with deeply hidden talent, she (Daily) is an irrepressible (ha!), elfin American, fresh in town with a tote-bag full of stolen cards. In the seamless sleaze of a Park Lane hotel, the couple turn their tricks and discover the piles of pathos on the jet set bum. If it had in any critical way been about this grubby little criminal sub-culture it just might have been watchable.