Synopsis:
A period noir piece which has Martin and Lewis analogues mixed up with a murder and several pairs of titties.
Review:
Colin Firth is Vince Collins, a British, slightly less drunk version of Dean Martin. Kevin Bacon is Lanny Morris, a slightly more drunk Jerry Lewis with the libido of Bill Clinton. A couple decades after their heyday has ended, some annoying ghostwriter is hired to do an autobiography for Vince. She starts poking around into the interesting life and times of the comedy duo and hilarity ensues.
I assume this story is probably pretty tame compared to what actually went on in Vegas during the Rat Pack days. It's also a bitch to go into any details with giving away the plot, and the non-linear progression doesn't make it any easier. Sidenote: film was released unrated because the MPAA nailed it with NC-17. In spite of much action taking place in the 1970s, the lead actress has modern hair and wardrobe, while the supporting cast and scenery look like they raided the costumes from "The Facts of Life." Speaking of the lead, Alison Lohman, dear god ... she's fucking awful. I guess they told her it was a Nancy Drew flick because she plays up the plucky, DIY, amateur female sleuth angle unceasingly. I can only compare her scenes to watching Courtney Love in a David Lynch movie.
Verdict:
Might be worth checking once, but don't think too much.
Where the Truth Lies
Where the Truth Lies
Diogenes of Sinope: "It is not that I am mad, it is only that my head is different from yours."
Arnold Judas Rimmer, BSC, SSC: "Better dead than smeg."
Arnold Judas Rimmer, BSC, SSC: "Better dead than smeg."