



After Dark, My Sweet really threw me. On paper, it’s classic noir—damaged drifter, femme fatale, a dodgy plan spiralling into doom. But instead of moody shadows and rainy alleys, it’s all sun-scorched streets and bleached-out landscapes. It feels less like a thriller and more like a fever dream, drifting through a cracked and crumbling world.
Jason Patric absolutely nails it as the ex-boxer teetering on the edge. He’s quiet, twitchy, and weirdly tender—like a man who’s just about holding it together. His performance crept up on me. There’s real emotional weight beneath the surface.
That said, the film’s slow—really slow. It’s not big on plot twists or action, and at times, I found myself wondering where it was all going. But the atmosphere is spot on—drenched in dread and that sinking feeling of inevitable failure.
It’s not one I’d rave about, but I respect the mood it builds.