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BY PETER KEOUGH
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As Good As It Gets, Paper Moon, and The Grifters have all won or been nominated for acting Oscars, so don’t be surprised if Matchstick Men, which borrows from them all, achieves a similar distinction. Needless to say, it’s a mix-and-matchstick affair, an adaptation by Ridley Scott (catch the October 31 re-release of his Alien to be reminded of what he’s capable of) of an Eric Garcia novel that’s derivative of Jim Thompson. Nicolas Cage is as good as an imitation of Jack Nicholson gets as Roy, a con artist with obsessive compulsive disorder. His malady doesn’t stop him from amassing a fortune bilking the dumb and unwary, however, and he keeps it in a ceramic dog and a safety-deposit box. When Roy’s symptoms worsen, his partner Frank (Sam Rockwell playing a subdued version of his usual asshole) refers him to a shrink who suggests that Roy reunite with his long-lost teenage daughter (Alison Lohman). You fill in the ending; it can’t be any more inept than the fumbling epilogue they come up with here. Cage is endearing at times, but Matchstick Men is as flimsy as its title. (118 minutes)
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