Even at the height of his career, Patrick Swayze never possessed much charm or charisma. He's always been something of a cinematic Fabio: a blank chunk of beefcake upon whom others can project romantic fantasies. Swayze's career has been sinking fast for at least five years, but Letters From A Killer is his first direct-to-video film, though Next Of Kin and Steel Dawn wouldn't look out of place alongside the output of, say, Olivier Gruner. Swayze's male-stripper looks (and male-stripper-level acting ability) are on full display in Letters From A Killer, which casts the Ghost star as a hunky death-row inmate who woos women on the outside with flowery prose. But Swayze is no average wife-killer, as his immersion in such non-sodomy-related prison pastimes as reading Zane Grey novels and playing chess clearly reveals. He's a sensitive fellow who, after being sprung from death row following a retrial, attempts to track down his pen-pal honeys, only to find that one of them is killing everyone close to him and framing him for her crimes. Is it tough-talking Italian ex-cop Gia Carides? Or could it be the softly drawling Southern belle? Or could Swayze himself be guilty? (The only time he professes his innocence in his wife's murder is when he strangles a redneck while yelling, "Not guilty, motherfucker!," a fact that does little to help his case.) Alas, the hilariously overwrought Letters From A Killer is unencumbered by suspense and plausibility, allowing viewers plenty of time to ponder Swayze's two facial expressions (Zen passive and deer-in-the-headlights confused), as well as the silliest psychodrama this side of Color Of Night. Often resembling a grisly USA Network movie, Letters is unfettered schlock, but it can be sublime schlock: Only an unnecessarily long running time and too many obligatory chase scenes keep it from being a guilty pleasure on par with Swayze's insane metaphysical bouncer epic Road House.