What the hell were the people behind "Brenda Starr" thinking (or were they even thinking to being with) when they made this
film based on the long-running, now-defunct newspaper comic strip by the late Dale Messick? Sure, comic strips, let alone comic books, weren't treated seriously then (Hollywood still had the Man of Steel on their brains), but if you make a film based on a fictional, antiquated female reporter (thanks, Gloria Steinhem), you have an embarrassing cine-wreck.
In the supposed real world, comic strip artist Mike Randall (Tony Peck, son of the Oscar-winning legend Gregory) toils on the "Brenda Starr" strip for Messick. In an odd fourth-wall smashing fashion, Starr (Brooke Shields, "The Blue Lagoon") refuses to be drawn by Randall and "quits". Randall, in some unexplainable way (one of the film's problems), goes into the strip to convince Starr to return before the deadline. She's busy, though, with tracking down a scientist in Puerto Rico and Brazil. Seems the egghead has invented a unique rocket fuel that has attracted both a bumbling band of Russian spies (What? No Nazis?) and Starr's rival newshound, Libby "Lips" Lipscomb (Diana Scarwid of "Mommie Dearest").
Intrigued? If not, congratulations. You have better sense than me, who saw the film for free and still wants the 94 minutes of my life back! The. . .film tries to be cute and campy so much, it descends.
Directed ineptly by Robert Ellis Miller, who used an obviously first draft script by James David Buchanan, Noreen Stone & Jenny Wolkind (a pseudonym for Delia Ephron, Nora's sister), "Starr" dims to black than shines, from start to end, especially from the start. After the women's liberation movement, the novelty of a female reporter seems dated, and those who know and enjoyed Brenda Starr are either dead or collecting Social Security. Who the hell is supposed to watch this film, let alone enjoy it?
Casting then-hot fashion model Shields as the title role was a bad attempt to get young audiences. The fact she goes through silly, implausible costume changes (I didn't bother to count how many. Sorry, Bob Mackie!) did next to nothing to help her in a flat, cardboard role. It's not one of her best moments. Doe-eyed Peck's no help, awkwardly being both comic relief and potential love interest. When he tries to make Starr utter a foul profane word, instead of "jeepers", it comes off a fact to the film's datedness. Also of no real use, aside of being beefcake with a eye-patch, is the dashing, mysterious Basil St. John (a pre-James Bond Timothy Dalton) who captures Starr's heart. At least poor Ms. Scarwid shares the sentiment of any unfortunate viewer when referring to Starr: "Oh! I wish I could kill her!"
Interestingly, the film was shelved to distribution disputes before premiering in 1986. Three years later, it bowed in France, where Shields was popular. Another three years, it came back here and bombed, without much publicity and wallowing in the shadows of better comic book/strip adaptations. If anything can learn from watching "Brenda Starr", it's to make a better film involving a more interesting female comic book/strip character (Paging Wonder Woman ).
In the supposed real world, comic strip artist Mike Randall (Tony Peck, son of the Oscar-winning legend Gregory) toils on the "Brenda Starr" strip for Messick. In an odd fourth-wall smashing fashion, Starr (Brooke Shields, "The Blue Lagoon") refuses to be drawn by Randall and "quits". Randall, in some unexplainable way (one of the film's problems), goes into the strip to convince Starr to return before the deadline. She's busy, though, with tracking down a scientist in Puerto Rico and Brazil. Seems the egghead has invented a unique rocket fuel that has attracted both a bumbling band of Russian spies (What? No Nazis?) and Starr's rival newshound, Libby "Lips" Lipscomb (Diana Scarwid of "Mommie Dearest").
Intrigued? If not, congratulations. You have better sense than me, who saw the film for free and still wants the 94 minutes of my life back! The. . .film tries to be cute and campy so much, it descends.
Directed ineptly by Robert Ellis Miller, who used an obviously first draft script by James David Buchanan, Noreen Stone & Jenny Wolkind (a pseudonym for Delia Ephron, Nora's sister), "Starr" dims to black than shines, from start to end, especially from the start. After the women's liberation movement, the novelty of a female reporter seems dated, and those who know and enjoyed Brenda Starr are either dead or collecting Social Security. Who the hell is supposed to watch this film, let alone enjoy it?
Casting then-hot fashion model Shields as the title role was a bad attempt to get young audiences. The fact she goes through silly, implausible costume changes (I didn't bother to count how many. Sorry, Bob Mackie!) did next to nothing to help her in a flat, cardboard role. It's not one of her best moments. Doe-eyed Peck's no help, awkwardly being both comic relief and potential love interest. When he tries to make Starr utter a foul profane word, instead of "jeepers", it comes off a fact to the film's datedness. Also of no real use, aside of being beefcake with a eye-patch, is the dashing, mysterious Basil St. John (a pre-James Bond Timothy Dalton) who captures Starr's heart. At least poor Ms. Scarwid shares the sentiment of any unfortunate viewer when referring to Starr: "Oh! I wish I could kill her!"
Interestingly, the film was shelved to distribution disputes before premiering in 1986. Three years later, it bowed in France, where Shields was popular. Another three years, it came back here and bombed, without much publicity and wallowing in the shadows of better comic book/strip adaptations. If anything can learn from watching "Brenda Starr", it's to make a better film involving a more interesting female comic book/strip character (Paging Wonder Woman ).