Lazy criticism will tell you two things about Go. One, that it's Doug Liman's second film, and, two, that it's Pulp Fiction-Lite. Let's lay some ghosts. Firstly, it's the Swingers' man's third, although few would mock him for disowning a dreary, heavy-handed med-school black comedy called Getting In. And secondly, Go is not in thrall to Quentin Tarantino. It is not, as some would protest, Pulp Fiction on E.

So why the comparison? Because it's about young people on the flip-side of the law? Because it's largely set in Los Angeles? Because it's blessed with a witty, wordy screenplay? Or, more likely, because of its interlocking, tripartite structure? God forbid anyone should look at anything the big chinned one has already tickled.

Christmas Eve. Desperate for rent, check-out girl Ronna (the always excellent Sarah Polley) agrees to work an extra shift while co-worker, Englishman Simon (Desmond Askew, irritating), takes off for Las Vegas with his buddies. In the first story, Ronna finds herself embroiled in a minor but rapidly souring drug deal, caught between scary dealer Todd (Timothy Olyphant) and undercover cop Burke (the magnificent William Fitchner). In Vegas, Simon and his black friend Marcus (Taye Diggs) are soon fleeing gun-toting titty-bar hoodlums. And, finally, back in Los Angeles, gay TV soap stars Zack (Jay Mohr) and Adam (Scott Wolf), unwilling pawns in Burke's game, get further embroiled in real life than they either want or can control.

There's more than enough plot for half a dozen pictures, all cleverly looped back on itself by writer John August. Starting from a single point and tying all the disparate threads back together again makes for a tricksy and loose but surprisingly satisfying climax. The neatness of August's back-to-work sign-off inevitably references Scorsese's undervalued After Hours, but Go really finds its echoes in Jim Jarmusch's delightful Mystery Train. What it doesn't have is Tarantino's look-at-me obviousness, neatly side-stepping the temptation to pig out on irrelevancies. Its single-mindedness is refreshing. (How much better a 101 minute Pulp Fiction?)

More precisely, though, August never to lets the picture flag, building powerful engines into each of its three acts. There are moral dilemmas quickly established for Ronna, for Simon, and for Adam and Zack that both keep them going forward and prevent us from tiring of narrative leaps. Like a shark, Go is only dead if it stops moving.

It is not, therefore, particularly deep, nor, unlike Swingers, especially interested in character. That said, a hyperactive Askew aside, the sprightly cast perform with aplomb, ironing out a couple of potentially contrived pieces of plotting - would Todd really lend out his credit card? - never taking their eyes from the prize. Throw in a better than average rave soundtrack and some neat riffing on the meaning of the title itself, and you're guaranteed a shallow but undeniably thrilling ride.