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Jack Cates once again enlists the aid of ex-con Reggie Hammond--this time, to take down The Iceman, a ruthless drug lord operating in the San Francisco bay area.
From start to finish, the picture is barely alive, staggering through a cardboard obstacle course while waving around a few guns and breasts to keep the audience awake.
Walter Hill, who also directed the first film, surely recognizes the hollowness of what he's doing here. He also hasn't had a hit since "48 HRS.," which no doubt explains why he's once again tilling these charred fields.
You know how sometimes, in a dream, you'll see these familiar scenes and faces floating in and out of focus, but you're not sure how they connect? Another 48 HRS is a movie that feels the same way.
The idea of dropping in on Reggie Hammond and Jack Cates five years later presents some amusing and intriguing possibilities. But little thought or imagination have been devoted to considering how the two characters might have changed over the years.
It's a minor pleasure to see Murphy slightly subdued. What seems more problematic is the virtual exaltation of Dirty Harry vigilantism, the storm trooper mentality and behavior on Nolte's part that the film breezily takes for granted ...
Mr. Murphy has two comic moments, which aren't enough for a feature-length film. Among other things, he has developed some of the same maddening mannerisms that marked Frank Sinatra's performances in his Rat Pack movies.