Dirty cops. Minority criminals. Lots of shooting and cursing. All of this and more can be yours for just two hours of your precious time. Actually, there isn't really any "more" to Pride and Glory, so this is all you get for your money.

The movie begins with a cops vs. cops football game, which was probably a bad move, because watching the game unfold just made me want to eat chips, drink beer, and fall asleep on the couch with one arm dangling to the floor, the remote control loosely gripped in my weary hand. Unfortunately, the movie never recovers from this opening blunder.

For most of the film, I felt as though I had been dropped squarely in the middle of an already-established plot line, but without the benefit of knowing any of the backstory. This left the script free to pummel me with spoonfuls of information that seemed like it was probably important, while never revealing to me what was actually going on. Thankfully, the dialog more than made up for this gap by presenting me with generous portions of well-worn cliches, including the requisite "good cop" who has some mysterious and generic "bad thing" from his past, a thing which he is still not quite over. Don't worry about what the "bad thing" is, just try to enter into the character's angst and internal struggle.

Take this basic principle and apply it to the entire movie, and you will get a pretty good idea of why Pride and Glory is a film that fails to be either proud or glorious. For most of the viewing, the movie grips the strings of the heart and pulls them violently, but never indicates what those strings are attached to, leaving the viewer with nothing but a consistent (and confusing) pulling sensation. It was as if the movie kept repeatedly inviting me to come inside for a few drinks, but never gave me a compelling reason to accept the invitation.

At about 45 minutes into the film, the body of a dead drug dealer is found, but the police are unsure "where he fits in"; a witness is questioned, but is declared to be "scattered" in her answers; then follows a funeral procession/parade played out in interminable slow-motion. I believe that it was at this point that the movie became self-aware, and started sending me encoded messages: portions of the plot don't fit it, the direction of the storyline is scattered, and yet it marches on, slowly, unceasingly, toward its morbid conclusion.

One hour into the film, I just wanted out. Most of the story's "reveals" had been unveiled, and there was nothing left to do but watch the yarn unravel, blandly.