Shamus is a lazy private eye movie that would barely make it on television if not for the presence of Burt Reynolds and Dyan Cannon. They do enliven their scenes a little bit, but there's not much chemistry between them. The rest of the picture is warmed-over crime clichés, done by the numbers.

When thieves fall out after a big diamond robbery, a flamethrower killing lands Brooklyn private dick Shamus McCoy (Reynolds) in the middle of big-time gunrunning and murder. Threatened by hoods and attack dogs, Shamus woos and beds Alexis (Cannon), sister to one of the schemers, and traces the arms smugglers to Colonel Hardcore (John P. Ryan), a munitions expert on Staten Island.

The strong suit of this show is its action, and the fights and stunts are up to Reynolds' high athletic standard. On all other counts, Shamus comes up deficient. The script apes The Big Sleep all the way down the line. This gumshoe is summoned to a rich man's house, to find him living without explanation in a refrigerated room instead of a hothouse. Waiting for a contact to appear, he bides his time by bedding the buxom femme clerk in a bookstore across the street. The script by Barry Beckerman has Reynolds drop clunker lines like a this come-on to ahat-check girl: "I might be doing some skin diving later". Answer: "Don't forget your snorkel."

When he's not staring at women's chests, Shamus baits a swishy homosexual and hangs out with his childhood buddy - now a police detective, of course. His sidekick, who gets rubbed out so Burt can cry, is an eccentric who issues a constant stream of sports trivia. Giorgio Tozzi is a mob boss who doubles as a gourmet chef, Ron Weynand is awful as the reclusive millionaire, and the usually excellent John P. Ryan is stuck with a ridiculous army colonel character, spouting mock-gruff macho talk about George Patton while chomping on a cigar.

Joe Santos from the Rockford Files is reasonably nimble as the detective pal, and a young John Glover has a bit as a witness who Burt intimidates after a Brooklyn chase.

The seriousness of the casting is evident in the credit given to Morris the Cat, who plays Burt's cat, named 'cat'. Morris was a popular fixture at the time in tv ads for cat food, but he apparently wasn't finicky enough to turn this role down - they don't even give him any lines to read.

Burt Reynolds was a real movie star whose main career touched on a memorable movie only once or twice, as in Deliverance. Shamus has no such ambitions and will be more of the same for Reynolds fans, as dated in its own way as his 'good ole boy' car stunt pictures. The score by Jerry Goldsmith is just serviceable. The dependable Buzz Kulik directed without much disctinction.

As with many other 70s films, Shamus is rated PG, even though it has a fleeting glimpse or two of topless nudity. This is the kind of film where people are roasted alive with flamethrowers, but nobody, not even nasty mob hoods, uses rough language.

Columbia Home Entertainment has done a so-so film no favors in this pan'n scan flat transfer that chops the sides while leaving too much head and foot room. As Columbia transfers all their films in Hi Def and multiple formats, the lack of 16:9 enhancement is purely a marketing decision. The audio is fine, and the dull colors are probably the same as they were in theatrical prints. The only extras are 'bonus trailers', interactive menus, and scene selections!