Crime Scene

| April 14, 2003

Two words, dudes. Hooters. In fact, hooters, ass, a little bit of bush and the ol’ naked chick shucking the clam with a pillow — and that’s just the opening sequence. If Crime Scene doesn’t have you killing some kittens before the credits are over, then you need more than Viagra.
This movie has more nipples than a dairy farm.
We jump right into the action as some guy with a thing for watching strangles the aforementioned naked chick and our cops begin their investigation. One, Charlie (Amber Smith), is the typical female movie cop — in other words, far too good-looking to actually be a cop. The other, some guy, has that annoying sarcastic cop attitude down pat. Some of his interrogation scenes are hilarious, as when the girlfriend of a witness is casually getting stoned when he walks in the room. True, some of the dialogue here comes across as if it were sponsored by a government anti-drug department, but still… hooters. Beaver. Sex and violence. Remember, the movie was shot — and cast — in LA, and the talents all the women were cast for have nothing to do with Lee Strassberg.
Did I mention that the first victim’s boyfriend (who looks like he’s no more than nineteen) actually has a mullet? Bitchin’.
Reality isn’t a strong suit here, but hey, who cares? I mean, after all, if a pair of cops really walked in on a guy who was video-taping a nude girl he thought was seventeen (she’s not) would they not only make no arrest, but insist that he pay her what he owes her? Of course not, but who cares? Naked chick. Video camera. Comedy. Go with it. If anything, female masturbation is as common in the world of this film as it is in any male freshman dorm.
When the cops visit a hot female sex therapist to get her help in the case, things just get steamier, and it helps that said sex therapist makes a great argument in favor of sex, pornography and other things that make life worth living. The cops try to argue against her, but they lose.
The second part of the film gets into deep psycho-sexual territory, not to mention a hot underwater fantasy lesbian scene between Smith and the sex therapist that’s worth the price of admission, followed by a real lesbian sex scene that brings the box score (so to speak) to a dozen pairs of hooters. And somehow, all of the men in the film manage to have sex without ever taking their pants off, so you won’t need to be embarrassed if you watch this one with friends, which you’ll want to. The climax of the action, as it were, comes after Smith’s visit to a sleazy backroom sex club that just puts the (naked) body count way, way over the top.
Will Charlie catch the bad guy? More importantly, will Charlie and the sex therapist get into some industrial strength rug munching for real? You’ll just have to watch Crime Scene yourself to find out. It’s one of those films for which DVD was invented.
On a scale of one to ten Kleenexes, I rate this half a box. Hell, a whole box. And you know what I mean.

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