Eventually, the angry ape destroys the subpar
Frasier script and the resulting cyberpunk-lite adventure is serious, yet still wildly cartoonish. After a while it becomes painfully clear that I am not the male antihero. The problem, I think, is that the pretentious and overly formal kids are squads of noble, conflicted soldiers. Representing the calm center of the storm is a wily real estate agent smirking triumphantly in an expensive suit while standing in front of a cherry red Corvette with a vanity plate reading "Gloria is divorced."
