I’m hard-pressed to find a modern film noir (in color) that is more incessantly awkward than Robert Benton’s 1998 Twilight, a movie that offers veteran Paul Newman a showcase vehicle as a private investigator who gets shot at—sorry about revealing that, from there, I won’t get too into the plot on this one. Newman’s relaxed casual cool is welcome, but there are a few instances he’s over-acting with too much nuance in order to look like he’s under-acting. Like his extraneous wincing when he’s being shot at. His guilt-ridden face when he’s caught sleeping with his friend’s wife. And so on.

What about those awkward elements, though! Oh my, where do I begin?

Everything about this potboiler and how the hero goes from encounters with one batch of supporting characters to another batch to learn what the cockeyed plot is all about, is awkward and wearying. And so much more.

The movie’s prologue begins with a young Reese Witherspoon being exploited, she’s gratuitously nude. Liev Schreiber plays her boyfriend, who is shoehorned into the plot later. Gene Hackman and Susan Sarandon do serviceable work. James Garner is also an acquaintance so easy-going and affable that you wonder why he’s connected to some crooked business later on. Only watch this flick for Newman’s line readings, if that’s any endorsement for you.