You know what? It's true. Deborah ('Valley Girl') Foreman IS damned cute and so she can damned well ACT damned cute if she wants to. And she's even cuter when she's doing her omigod-this-is-crayzee grin. But it doesn't get any cuter when it is the ONLY mannerism she is allowed to display in response to EVERY situation through the entire running time of a feature comedy with her in virtually every scene. And - especially since Foreman strikes me as more of a comedienne than an actress - let me mention that this sort of thing is supposed to be the DIRECTOR'S job, guys!! I was even less impressed with hateful hunk Sam Jones, whose assitude quickly mutates into a plot problem: she watches him be a complete unredeemed creep for a while, then falls in love. And to hell with spoilers, you're not gonna see it: put yourself in Foreman's shoes for the big climactic revelations: the guy you want to marry, and have in fact screwed (if that's what those three shots of bed-ridden, slow-motion kissing is supposed to symbolize) is your BROTHER; your BOSS is your FATHER; no wait your CO-WORKER - who hates your guts! - is in fact your FATHER so you can get married after all. I would not only not dance around the room - I would, I'm sure, undergo an immediate and public nervous breakdown. And how could I forget the screen debut of Penn and Teller, sullying their mystique as a talkative racist creep and random imaginary Arab, respectively.
Review of My Chauffeur
