Certain types of movie characters are impossible to relate to, much less feel any sort of rooting interest for. Minus-zero allegiance. James Caan in The Gambler aside, gambling junkie flicks are a one-way toilet flush. Even if a gambler protagonist wins a big glorious pot, you know it’s just a passing distraction because he/she has no interest in anything other than the next roll, the next card, the next horse or the next wheel spin. Talk about a film that hasn’t a prayer…the very definition of dramatic futility. With the exception of Leaving Las Vegss, the same terms apply to films about chronic boozers (Under The Volcano).
