Described by the Village Voice as 'a deadpan, post-Jarmusch comedy made when Jarmusch was still in grammar school', shot on the streets in black-and-white with sly camera movements and naturalistic sound, Roemer's film is comedy out of cinéma-vérité. It looks and feels like Jarmusch, a seriously oblique, cool look at Jewish aspirations and social morality: this perhaps explains why it was shelved until 1989, since no one in 1970 thought it merited release. A two-bit New York Jewish racketeer, Harry Plotnick is released after a l2-month 'vacation' to find his affairs in disarray. The Mob has muscled in on his turf, the tax man is auditing his books, a parole officer is hovering, and his sister's staying over...all this before Harry has even crashed into his ex-wife's car and met a daughter he didn't know he had. It may sound frantic, but in fact the plot takes a back seat to ironic observation. Through it all wanders Martin Priest's magnificently nonplussed Harry, an outsider stoically trying to work his way back in.