"Say Nothing...good about this movie, ever? No problem."
If you had to name a reigning queen of straight-to-video ridiculousness, the crown would have to go to Nastassja Kinski.One-time supermodel and semi-successful movie star (who I swear still has a few powerhouse performances left in her) Kinski has spent the last few years filling video store shelves with the most derivative and predictable turkeys out there. Just one of these forgettable little chestnuts is Say Nothing, a film apparently under the misapprehension that there’s still some juice left to be wrung from the Fatal Attraction fruit.
The first indication that you’re watching a film impossible to be taken seriously is that William Baldwin gets top billing. Those unfamiliar with William’s nepotism-induced plague of cinema will undoubtedly enjoy his performance here, as the guy comes off like a pizza delivery guy who somehow does an uncanny impression of Alec Baldwin. I realize that the Baldwins are an easy target among low-minded movie critics, but Baldwin validates all derision here, delivering a performance that rides the see-saw from wholly ridiculous to stunningly awful.
Kinski is Grace Needham, a married woman who enjoys a vacation tryst with millionaire tycoon Julian Grant (Baldwin). After their sweaty romp in the sand, Grace returns home intent on patching up the relationship between herself and her chiseled-yet-unemployed husband (Hart Bochner, remembered solely for his sneering performance in Die Hard), but Julian has other plans. Since Julian’s an all-powerful rich guy, he has no problem in ruining Grace’s life. He gives her hubby a swanky new job, complete with cash bonuses and illegal activities - while Grace gasps and whines in the background.
Not much else needs to be said about this 9th generation Fatal Attraction retread, but a little research at the IMDb delivered some factoids, some sad and others just amusing. Most distressing was the news that this generic cable flick was directed by Allan Moyle, a filmmaker who showed some real chops with movies like Times Square, Pump Up the Volume and Empire Records, yet has obviously devolved into a Cinemax-licensed tripod.On the silly side, it’s not every day I get to review a movie scripted by the woman who penned the theme from Webster. The dialogue here is a mild improvement over the hypnotic lyrics to “Then Came You”, but a few Kinski skin shots and the occasional bout of unintentional hilarity are not near enough to make this lazy rehash worthy of your time.