One forgets that
Tom Berenger used to be a big star. A big enough star to get the lead in a
Ridley Scott-directed thriller co-starring
Mimi Rogers as a Manhattan socialite who needs police protection after witnessing a murder.
The cops' first mistake? Assigning newly-promoted detective Berenger to watch over Mimi in her uber-posh apartment. Oh, that apartment. It's the real star of the movie. A glass-lined walk-in liquor cabinet? How much of my soul do I have to sell for one of those?
Berenger is impressed by the liquor cabinet, and even more impressed by Mimi, who slinks around the house listening to Bach. Mimi is allegedly a step up from Tom's wife, the brassy
Lorraine Bracco, who doesn't slink, doesn't listen to Bach and admits her ass is starting to sag.
Ridley Scott doesn't do sex scenes, so when Berenger and Mimi finally hook up, it's all off-screen. Doesn't matter though. The apartment has more sex appeal than Tom and Mimi put together. The movie is interior decorator porn.
The plot is just about irrelevant. All we need to know is that Berenger really wants to fuck Mimi, and Mimi, despite Berenger being a rough-hewn police detective from Queens, really wants to fuck him back.
Oh, and some guy is trying to kill her. Tom is supposed to be her bodyguard, but he sucks at it. He lets her go to the john alone during some hoity-toity reception at the Guggenheim and the creepy mobster threatens her and smears her make-up. The evil guy turns himself in, and Mimi identifies him in a line-up but the cops have to let him go because Tom forgot to read him his rights.
Tom's a little distracted. Maybe it's the slinking. Maybe it's the Bach. Maybe it's the shoulder pads.
Ridley Scott finds two tones, and manages to veer successfully back and forth between them. One is silken and woozy, like
The Red Shoe Diaries only not laughable. The other is close to screwball. Both are engaging. Neither depends anything on the writing which hovers on the verge of intolerable.
The screwball stuff ends up being more entertaining. Berenger at home with Bracco, and their little mouthy son. The actors play it so broad - even the kid, who has more attitude than ten
Macaulay Culkins - that it almost blows the whole thing up. But the explosiveness is sometimes hilarious.
Bracco has the same nervy comic rhythm she brought to
GoodFellas - times fifty. And even Berenger, a slow, simmery, boring-type actor, gets in on the shouting and the gesticulating.
It's actually a disappointment when the movie homes in on the plot. The third act is a confusing snooze. And Mimi Rogers, frankly, has the personality of a hat-rack. The movie might've been more fun if Bracco had played the slinky socialite and Rogers the ball-buster from Queens. Then at least it would make sense for Berenger to want her so bad.
Is it enough for a girl to have money, class and shiny marble floors? Doesn't fire in the belly count for anything?