Silver Streak, the train which travels from LA to Chicago and houses a murder, dawdles rather than streaks. Characters and plot ramble at will, and no matter how high Colin Higgins' script flies, Arthur Hiller's direction remains with feet and hands firmly on the ground. Wilder, who witnesses the foul deed, keys his performance to the right pitch of muted madness ('You like my new shoes?' he asks, stretched out on the heroine's bed). Clayburgh is a real sweetie, and Pryor isn't too far behind as a black dude thief. On the debit side, the fooling occasionally gets too boisterous for its own good; but it's rare enough to find a film designed to provide fun on a spectacular scale that succeeds even part of the time.