Give or take the first five minutes and a few cuts to the siege cops, Kevin Spacey's directorial debut is very stagy. First-time scripter Christian Forte does a decent job with restricted material but since everything more or less happens in the one location there is little scope for action, relying instead on the dynamics of character to drive the picture. Its success is limited - a few too many cuts to that clock - but not inconsiderable, especially in the coldly persuasive denouement. What we are reminded of the pulsating macho swagger of David Mamet, but Forte's dialogue only hints at the expletive-speckled zing of Glengarry Glen Ross (which featured Spacey the actor) without ever quite fucking delivering.

The performances are creditable, emphasising the fact that Spacey tightly rehearsed the project before even looking through a camera. Dillon is as good here as in Grace of My Heart or Drugstore Cowboy, but Sinise (the new Malkovich?) makes yet another tight-arsed, lifeless showing. Dunaway is fine, Mortensen has so little to do it hardly matters, and Joe Mantegna could have phoned in. Walsh, on the other hand, is terrific but gets retired much too early. The real surprise is the unknown Fichtner (The Underneath, Contact), whose skinny, hair-trigger psycho maybe textbook but remains memorable.

It's lack of focus that finally leaves Albino Alligator an interesting failure. Everything is so deliberately low-rent and visually conservative (excepting a car smash even Princess Di would be proud of) that the picture never quite manages to fill-out 97 minutes. Making the cops notional and icing 15 minutes would help, although Michael Brooks' score is outstanding. Spacey can obviously direct actors for theatre, but on this evidence those cinematic senses need a little more time to develop.