3000 MILES TO GRACELAND

Music-video director Demian Lichtenstein, getting his first whack at a big feature, musters all his stylistic verve, and for the first act of this True Romanceýesque roadster, the result is sheer mastery. The problem is that as a storyteller (he co-wrote the script) Lichtenstein doesn’t understand the basics (sustainable intrigue and character development), and so the film slithers between tedious melodrama and turgid excess.

As Elvis impersonators, Kevin Costner, Kurt Russell, and crew (including Christian Slater and David Arquette) pull off a rip-blazing heist of a Vegas casino during International Elvis week. Before they can divvy up the spoils, Costner’s Murphy, who claims to be the biological offspring of the King, tosses a nut and goes homicidal — he even exterminates an elderly wombat fanatic. On the road, Murph and Russell’s Michael square off over the money while Courteney Cox’s thong-revealing femme fatale and her punk-ass kid (David Kaye, who nearly steals the film) get caught in the middle. All too soon the double-crosses, convoluted plot twists, and emotional mis-communiqués become exhausting. After the slick casino job, 3000 Miles to Graceland has little to run on but Costner’s campy psychopath.

— Tom Meek