Iceman, too much filler, not enough substance to blow the load. Casting Michael Shannon was brilliance, but Ray Liotta was typecasting at its worst. Ray's probably a perfectly likeable guy, but an atrocious actor whose only success is attributable to our hard-ons for OC flicks. With Shannon's intensity, though, Iceman had the promise of something much, much more; the writers and producers just couldn't produce the money shot.
At the Sinatra Club was a complete fucking waste.