Μύ 
Michael Douglas does not often grace the screen as a white trash, badly complexioned sleaze with oddly-angled teeth. Yet here he is, at the start of this infectiously dotty comedy, relishing an almost surreal conversation with a furrow-browed dim-wit (Matt Dillon). This bozo has difficulty explaining his take on one night at McCool's (a bar where he is reeled in by femme fatale Liv Tyler), perhaps because he can barely count to two.
Both actors, through never overplaying their hand, are as fabulous as all the others including Paul Reiser as a horny lawyer who is amusingly defensive in front of his shrink and John Goodman, a cop happy to ignore key evidence for the sake of lust. These hapless chaps, who offer alternative versions of the same night at the bar, are also caught in Tyler's sticky web. Tyler herself, playing a manipulator with a sweet face but scheming heart, is highly adept at looking simultaneously dopey and vulnerable. Each time a man is stirred by her, she becomes almost ethereal, bathed in light, and this is one of the running gags in a film which, incidentally, takes for granted that men are ruled by their trousers.
As the screenplay - anchored in credible, beautifully-drawn characters - careers towards intoxicating absurdity, there are as many twists and turns as hilarious moments. Regarding Liv Tyler, Paul Reiser exclaims "It's like having a porn star in my house, but she's making salad" not long before he is chatting devotedly to his kids on the phone while decked out in leather and chains. A cleverly-structured treat.
