The acting is up to professional standards. Denzel Washington is in the lead as a jobless ex-GI in 1947 Los Angeles who is hired by a stranger to find a white girl named Daphne. He does a good job, as usual, without being in the least extravagant. The supporting players are all equally good, with Don Cheadle in the flashiest role as a friendly killer.

Jennifer Beals as the mysterious and missing devil in the blue dress is competent and attractive. You have never seen such huge, glistening black eyes. Why hasn't she gotten better parts? Location shooting is done carefully too. Lots of nice shots of seedier locations as well as a couple of the kind of faux country estates we saw so often on "Columbo." Washington, of course, is African-American, and Beals is passable as a Creole from Louisiana. Relationships between the police and the black community are sketched out in what's probably realistic detail. The heavy handedness of the cops should come as no surprise to anyone who's seen "L.A. Confidential," although it may shock some who grew up on "Dragnet." The racial divide isn't imposed willy nilly on the script, either. This is an unashamed noir. There's no attempt to make racism the central issue. It may be difficult for some of us to accept the notion that a politician's marriage to a woman who is partly of black parentage would stultify his career but it was true enough.

Still, the movie fails to engage. The narrative is murky, the action turgid, and there is a narration by Washington that serves as a familiar crutch for a weak story. It does nothing more than fill us in on the details of Washington's peregrinations, without adding anything more. It's Raymond Chandler without the fustian poetry or the scintillating cynicism. Washington's voice over never tells us that some babe had "hair the color of gold in old paintings." It only tells us things like, "I figured I'd better get out of there." I didn't really care much about anyone but Washington's out-of-work nice guy. I wanted him to make enough money to pay off his mortgage. That was about it. Well -- of course I didn't want to see Jennifer Beals tortured with that red hot poker either, although I wouldn't have minded if her captors had torn her clothes a little. Or, I guess the script could even have let her take a long, languorous bath.

Chandler and Hammett never had especially gripping characters either but Chandler carried us along with his blunt, boozy charm, and Hammett bootlegged in a philosophy of life.

Speaking of "carried," Washington has a line he speaks to Beals. "Change out of that house coat. Come on, I'll carry you home." Washington doesn't mean he's going to sweep her up in his arms and schlep her across town. He means he's going to escort her home in his vehicle. This is an old-fashioned, mostly Southern usage. It dates back to before the Civil War, as in "Carry Me Back to Old Virginny." I didn't mean to carry on so, but that sentence was one of the few things in the movie that roused my attention.