The characters, the riddles and particularly the bound sentiments are altogether produced by old movies, by recollected universes of shocking neon signs and forsook regions around the docks, of dismal bistros where failures wait over some espresso and forlorn rooms where the light is a man’s exclusive companion. This is a world for which the saxophone was imagined.
The motion picture starts with a man being discharged from jail, obviously. He is wearing dark and has a facial hair and wears a cap, obviously, and is named Hawk, obviously, and the primary spot he goes when he touches base nearby is Wanda’s Cafe, where Wanda keeps a couple rooms upstairs for her old beaus to retouch their broken dreams. The bistro is on a ragged out old block road down at the wrong end of Rain City.