British director John Boorman brought a European sensibility to a Los Angeles neo-noir: Point Blank is Antonioni plus violence, Francesco Rosi without politics. The title reverberates like a pun-point: blank. Lee Marvin is Walker, left for dead in an Alcatraz heist and now out to find the $93,000 he has coming. No more, no less, unless you count revenge. The trail leads to the City of Angels and the syndicate that runs it out of car lots, high-rise office buildings, and Santa Monica penthouses, the kind of places you know only exist with a little larceny. Picking up on the modern surface of his locale, Boorman takes a champagne-blond color scheme to a hallucinatory degree, blond-on-blond, like Angie Dickinson's bouffant and Marvin's silvery pate; in this film we have the bad, the brunette, and the bald. The dialogue is terse and so L.A. (“Why didn't he kill you?” “He killed the car”), the little side bits charming, the L.A. River surprisingly blue.