Nothing could be sillier or less sympathetic than these flashbacks of a dying Irish cop shot by a former black Panther pal (Billy) alternating with ""racial memories"" of himself as a young I.R.A. fighter back in the old country around the time of independence. Frank loves his black girl friend Vera (who gets on with his prejudiced family because -- dig it -- they think she's Catholic) but just watch when Billy tries to date his lily white niece. No way. Meanwhile back in Ireland Frank the terrorist is murdering a British informer who turns out to be a member of the Royal Veterinary Corps. The theme of oppressed turning oppressor (an endless, inescapable chain) is real and timely, but it has not even begun to be treated in this pretentious parable that is about as profound as a Muzak elevator symphony.