Though its ostensible setting is Key West, the new Goldie Hawn film "Crisscross" really takes place on the isle of moral torpor, in the entropy straits, halfway between being and nothingness, near the tropic of lassitude. This is Joan Didion territory, it's Robert Stone territory -- but it sure isn't Goldie Hawn territory.
Hawn plays the stressed-out divorcee of a naval aviator and Skyhawk jock who accidentally planted a 500-pounder in a children's hospital over in 'Nam. Like a plague spreading through the air, the miasma of this original sin infects all who come in touch, particularly the beaten-down Hawn and her somewhat drab son, Chris (David Arnott).
The year is 1969, when the dispirit of a Vietnam war winding ever tragically onward served as counterpoint to a technofestival of Yankee ingenuity known as the moonwalk; indeed, director Chris Menges uses the moonwalk as background for the dolorous gropings of these sad sacks.