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www.washingtonpost.com - : Robert Downey's the lad in question. He practices his raking in front of a mirror, in a randy variation of De Niro's ''You Talkin' to Me?'' shtick: ''Hi, I'm Jack Jericho,'' he goes, eternally smoothing his greasy hair. ''Hi, hi.'' And then he tries the Botticelli line, or sometimes it's the body of Chagall (the body of Chagall?). He works hard. He'll leave his red Camaro convertible double-parked to rush to some passing beauty. And his lips will blur, as he raps it out, drawing from any pop school of thought he can ('80s Sensitive Male, Vegas Casinospeak, Calvin's predestination theory). more...
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Critic Reviews
