Cross-pollinating Night On Earth and producer Spike Lee's Summer Of Sam, Lee Davis' warm-hearted but empty-headed 3 A.M. stars executive producer Danny Glover as one of three cab drivers forced to navigate a personal crisis while avoiding a serial killer one eventful evening. Sergej Trifunovic co-stars as a Bosnian-born driver infatuated with a callous call girl, while Michelle Rodriguez completes the fare-collecting trio as a sullen young cabbie on the run from demons both emotional (sexual abuse) and literal (her belief that she's being followed by the demon of a man she killed). Over the course of the evening, Glover wrestles with his inability to commit to long-suffering waitress girlfriend Pam Grier, Trifunic struggles with his past and future, and Rodriguez fights to retain her sanity while convinced that a passenger is possessed by a buzzing, shape-shifting evil spirit. All the while, they continue to pick up colorful passengers, including jittery priest Roger Rees, swaggering hoods Guru and Treach, and filmmaker Spike Lee, who turns in the sort of distracting cameo he usually reserves for his own films. As with Summer Of Sam, the specter of an unseen serial killer adds an element of danger and peril to a situation already fraught with anxiety. But where Summer Of Sam smartly explored the way New York's fear of the Son Of Sam killer intermingled with its anxiety over new social forces, 3 A.M. uses its serial killer largely as a plot point, an efficient way to hasten its characters' inevitable redemption. Clumsily mixing melodrama, sluggish romantic drama, and strained quirkiness, 3 A.M. opens with a flurry of overwritten monologues and clumsy exposition from which it never quite recovers. Glover does what he can with a character defined solely by his innate goodness, but Rodriguez turns in the film's most impressive performance, deftly humanizing an ill-conceived character constructed from cheap pop psychology and misguided magical realism. Her haunted, soulful performance keeps 3 A.M. from limping into trippy self-parody, although in this context, even unintentional laughs would have been welcome.