Then we're back at the beginning of the show, with Kimble in the van. Then we cut to the chase scene, still in progress. Another pointless flashback of Helen on the floor. Then another one of Helen and her nipples, dead on the floor.

Gerard and Kimble run through the woods only to end up facing some traffic. The Minor Chords and Pulsating Drumbeat have been joined by the Stuttering Strings of Suspense. Kimble dashes through the cars, heedless of the traffic, and Gerard follows. They end up at an overpass on what I'm guessing is the same highway they were on or some junction of it. Gerard's almost got Kimble in his grasp when Kimble peeks down and sees a semi driving by. He grasps the railing, leaps off the embankment, and lands on the semi with a wince-making thud. Ouch! Also, his foot gets caught in the gap (insert your own "mind the gap" joke here) between the semi's cab and body. Yucky. As Kimble struggles to get his foot free, the semi fast approaches an overhanging sign that says "Joilet." It's gonna decapitate Kimble unless he does something right quick. Oh no. Will he ever make it?

He frees his foot after much struggle, runs lickety-split to the back of the semi, and plunges over the precipice, holding onto the edge just as the semi races under the "Joliet" sign. Close-up of Timothy Daly's face, beaming relief, perhaps at the fact that at least he's starring in a sad remake of a classic TV show, and that he's not, say, Rae Dawn Chong or Adrian Pasdar, starring in a sad rip-off of Touched by an Angel on NBC.

Caption: "Three Months Later." You know, one of the many cool things about Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai is the obvious affection Jim Jarmusch has for hip-hop culture, and the way he portrays it without getting all pretentious and condescending. Also, there are a few pretty kick-ass fight/shoot-out sequences, totally atypical of a Jarmusch film, but really well done and distinctly Jarmuschian.

Close-up of a bus-station bathroom sink. In it are some black-smeared paper towels and a box of hair color. Any minute I expect to see Julia Louis-Dreyfus from that series of annoying Clairol commercials demanding her residuals. Instead the camera pans up on Kimble, now a brunet, thank God, as he gazes at his handiwork. I'm sorry, but it takes at LEAST twenty minutes for the dye to kick in on his hair. He really sat in the bathroom that long? He emerges from the bathroom just as the bus pulls in.