Richard Tuggle's got plenty of ambition in his script, but for some reason he actually fares even better as a director. He tries to mix around maybe too much in his way of making a dark psychological thriller for his star, Clint Eastwood, but there's at least some very interesting set-ups he puts together in the middle of all the constant "crime scene" scenes (and there are MANY in this film, probably too much unless a fan of CSI). On the one hand, Tightrope tells the story of a divorced father of two girls who, as he says, are the only two things he hasn't screwed up. He's also into really getting into his work, i.e. going into the red-light districts of New Orleans and finding prostitutes at night. This comes out of the other story, which is about a serial killer who only kills women- said prostitutes and other ladies of the night- and leaves a red ribbon and some saliva as his only markers. This latter one, in all actuality, isn't even the story with more interest, even though that's the one most fans of Eastwood and of serial killer movies will want to see. On that end, Tuggle just pulls through with adequate marks, albeit with nothing too wrong or stupid to make it unbearable.<br /><br />But this storyline does provide an intersection into the one with Eastwood's Detective as he becomes embroiled in this case up to his neck- or groin maybe- and it's fascinating seeing Eastwood in such a sexually charged thriller for once, not to mention without the tongue-in-cheek lines and machismo turned to 11. He's a working cop with more than his share of flaws, but he loves his kids and tries to go at his job as a professional, and Eastwood plays him that way, but in doing this, and in the typical love interest angle that develops ever so subtly with a sex crimes expert, there's some complexities here. Tuggle provides some of the freshest psychological thrills I've seen in any neo-noir, either in just atmosphere (Eastwood walking through a warehouse filled with carnival-like animatronics, very nightmarish) or in how his perceptions of the case get to his head (a dream scene where he's the killer sounds too easy, but Tuggle isn't out to make it easy for him). When it starts to get personal, as the killer goes after the Detective, there's even an effective moment when Eastwood finally cracks through emotionally, and one realizes what's under all of that intense, cynical gruff. Meanwhile, Tuggle doesn't stop as a director in giving this about as dark a look as possible, and with the sexuality, while sleazy (where else will you see women wrestling all oiled up and refereed by a midget named Shorty), is also effective for the mood.<br /><br />All of this makes for some intriguing viewing, in many parts, however the more standard parts of the plot, the kind that may or may not bring some who want to seek out Eastwood's more obscure starring vehicles, lack the spark of what's unexpected. Eastwood's scenes with his own kid, Alison, are part of the intrigue. When we see them in very down-to-earth moments where the ex-wife/mother, a distant figure in this New Orleans world, pops up there's some things that don't need to be said, but get conveyed anyway. How much is there truth-wise in this for the real father/daughter dynamic, or is it just for show by a consummate professional and his equally apt offspring? I can't say for sure, but it makes for what might make for a better movie, if only the red-ribbon killer angle got some extra lift. That's not to say Tuggle doesn't end it on a high-note for thriller-fans, including a big laugh at what happens at the end of the train tracks tussle.