Sweaty self-abasement is de rigueur for any adaptation of this philosophical classic, and, as the fleetingly homicidal Raskolnikov, Dempsey dishes it out mercifully in tablespoons, not quarts. Julie Delpy's virtuous streetwalker and Kingsley's serene inspector are also rendered with masterful understatement, especially for a TV movie. But the guilt-induced, Afterschool Special fantasies (used in lieu of Dostoyevsky's fever-dream dialectics) are simply beyond redemption. B-


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