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Not so much subway riders as underground poseurs, Poe's Manhattan melodramatists - psychotic saxophonist, sweaty cop, junkie femme fatale, assorted night people - do little more than stand still for Johanna Heer's stylishly noir-conscious camera. Every shot might come ready to be framed, but it's a frustratingly long walk through the post-Pop gallery when Poe shows no inclination to cut, and even less to encourage his cast to get on with the off-handedly minimal 'plot'. Irksome narcissism.
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