The law of averages would seem to dictate that, among the countless films released directly to video, at least some are overlooked gems that got lost along the way to receiving theatrical distribution. But direct-to-video movies just seem to be getting worse, despite the ever-mounting resources poured into them and the increased presence of big budgets, major directors, and high-wattage stars. Minnie Driver makes her inauspicious direct-to-video debut in Slow Burn, an abysmal psychological thriller from the screenwriting team behind Kazaam, playing a plucky fortune hunter who has spent the majority of her life combing the Mexican desert for her grandmother's box of seemingly cursed diamonds. Acting as a paternal figure of sorts is grizzled narrator Stuart Wilson, a crusty loner with the usual quota of dark secrets and a tendency to rhapsodize at length about the mysterious whims, dark justice, and bitter irony of the desert. Driver leads a joyless, uneventful, and solitary existence until she unexpectedly encounters mustachioed James Spader and simpleton Josh Brolin, escaped convicts who have already found the diamonds but lack the wherewithal to survive in the desert by themselves. What follows is a tedious compendium of clichés from every sun-baked thriller ever to rip off The Treasure Of The Sierra Madre, complete with double-crosses, characters who aren't what they appear to be, and a ham-fisted cautionary message Wilson repeats endlessly in case Slow Burn ever threatens to become too subtle. With her perfect teeth, funky-chic wardrobe, impressive tan, and slippery American accent, Driver seems more like a lost Banana Republic employee than a desert rat, while the hammy Spader (with his Jimmy Durante rasp) and Brolin (with his Gumpish Cajun drawl) behave more like a hapless vaudeville team than dangerous criminals. As with many direct-to-video movies, the key question raised by Slow Burn isn't why it wasn't released in theaters, but why it was made in the first place.