There's a little of the famous repetitive, stylized Mamet dialogue, especially in the beginning of this intriguing, tongue-in-cheek thriller, but mostly what director Mamet does is play it (almost) straight. The premise is a con, called "the Spanish Prisoner" con. Steve Martin is the chief con artist, Jimmy Dell, while Campbell Scott is the victim, Joe Ross, whose proprietary business formula--displayed prominently throughout the movie as a red bound notebook--is the booty.
Most of us are familiar with this con from our e-mail where it typically takes the form of an African or the Middle Eastern princess seeking help from us to escape from a corrupt society or an oppressive husband. We are advised that she has many millions of dollars but can't get them out of the country without our help in the form of a few thousand bucks for various fees, etc. If we send the money we are assured that we will get a significant percentage of the millions.
Here the come-on includes a dark-haired beauty we see only in passing and in photos. Playing her foil is Rebecca Pidgeon (Mamet's talented wife) as Susan Ricci, a somewhat ditzy secretary for Joe's company. At the beginning everything is opaque and intriguing. It's not clear who is who, and who can be trusted and who can't. Indeed if this movie had a theme it would be "you can't trust anybody." The real worry, however, seems to be whether Joe will get paid for his work. Mr. Klein (Ben Gazzara) keeps putting him off. And so it appears that we may be viewing another business and relationships satire for which Mamet is justly famous (e.g., Glengarry Glen Ross 1992), but after a bit we begin to see the sinister plot unfold.
The acting is good and Mamet sets up his plot twists with precision--although the resolutions of some of the twists are a bit strained; in fact, probability and logic, in keeping with the time-honored tenets of the genre, are sometimes just plain ignored. But what carries this unusual thriller is an underlying tone of irony. Steve Martin is perfectly cast because underneath his sly exterior there seems lurking a guy about to bust out laughing; and indeed the entire edifice is a crafty but covert spoof of Hollywood thrillers. It's almost as though Mamet set out to write and direct a standard thriller but just couldn't help himself. On the other hand he may have had the understated parody in mind all the way, but just didn't want to tell anybody! Certainly Steve Martin was not fooled, but I do wonder about Campbell Scott who played his part with such single-minded intensity.
Anyway, there's a lot of clever dialogue, some of it cribbed ("Beware of enterprises requiring new clothes" is from Thoreau), and some interesting stage business (the tickets, the tennis book, the red-bound book, the camera/gun, the club certificate/request for passage to Venezuela, etc.). And trying to figure out who is up to what will keep you awake. But see this for Rebecca Pidgeon who, in her way, is as original as Mamet. Although her role here is not strictly comedic she reminds me a little of the Japanese comedic actress, Nobuko Miyamoto, widow of director Juzo Itami. She also reminds me of somebody who should be playing Saturday Night Live. Maybe she has.