This movie was CHOCK FULL of clichés. The writer appeared to suffer from a real lack of imagination and freshness. Clint Eastwood plays a stoic cop who's divorced and can't take his daughters to the New Orleans Saints game because he keeps getting a beep about a new murder case. But he looks at a framed photo of his ex-wife at night, remembering the good times. How many clichés is that so far? Now let's throw in a scene where Clint questions a tattoo artist which leads him to a strip club. Then the killer starts to target Clint. Wow. If you like exploitation 80s flicks about serial killers and strip clubs, Charles Bronson made 3 or 4 movies of that genre better than this movie. At least Bronson knew he wasn't a great actor
Review of Tightrope
