TCM did recently show this movie on a typically lazy summer afternoon before the 4th, and from the start, I was looking for some type of story line in which to sink my interest in, but things turned out murky. Its big draw was that it starred the much under-appreciated Warren Oates as some kind of detective who starts asking the big redeeming questions after he can't bring himself to carry out the job of tailing a mysterious woman for a corporate interest. When that plot line eventually became evident, I had the misfortune of falling asleep for just a few moments, and upon awakening, became even less involved as Oates wandered from scene to scene with the intent of discovering why the woman (the capable Leslie Caron) was on everyone's mind. My fault, sure, for nodding off, but unless the viewer is into speculation, this idea is never really revealed which leads to one guessing why her character is so central to the film's plot. Also disconcerting is how effortlessly the scenes wander between Carmel, Calif. and Los Angeles. The film's geography apparently has the two locales next door to one another, but they're not. The action moves too conveniently between them. And when Oakes and Caron end up with an inoperable vehicle yards from the Pacific Ocean under Big Sur's famed Bixby Creek Bridge after appearing to only have pulled off a main highway and onto a dirt road the night before, it appeared as if the producers wanted to get some grand photogenic shot near the end of this floundering mess. For whatever reason, too little too late. Nitpicking, yes, but I'm trying to find something worthy to write about what could have been a very good flick with just a little more pertinent exposition, and if I could, I would have had another joyous detective movie from the glorious '70s to chew on and enjoy.