Payback is a bitch…and her name is Danielle Roberts, P.I.
Grandma Moses…sorry…Danielle Roberts is the only private detective in the City of Angels that inspires more mysteries than she solves. When a chestically challenged stripper hires her for protection from a slimy sociologist named Sammy, it's only six hours before the unclothed one is experiencing rigor mortis, thanks to our droopy Danni. The police think she is responsible for the murder, but soon realize she couldn't kill time, let alone another human being. So with an uncashed, bad two party check from the ex-exotic dancer in hand, she tries to find a bank that will keep her in body stockings for another month. Of course, the Asian mafia has to get into the act, for no other reason than international atmosphere. Bodies keep piling up and Danielle tracks down the g-stringed corpse's brother, a beefed up billiard ball named Lunkhead and asks him just what the monkey meat is going on. He mumbles something and engages in deep squat thrusts. Then a pot-bellied Elvis shows up and throttles Danielle because she's a girl, and easy to pick on. There is a gunfight at the O-NO corral where we finally learn the answer to the question, "They shoot horses, don't they?" and dim Danielle discovers that someone who could not have possibly masterminded this whole convoluted conundrum is indeed responsible. It all revolves around some rare rock gem thing and…oh, just forget it…
Guns and Lipstick is by far the most miserable piece of spit excuse for a crime thriller that ever tainted a DVD. It is like a case of painful rectal itch that no amount of ointment or unguent can soothe. It is a living, breathing nightmare, the kind of film where random acts of grand theft auto are the sole means of transportation for the characters and a villain called "the albino" has more coloring to him than George Hamilton. It is not so much a movie as a series of badly acted, miserably written, disconnected scenes spliced together by mentally challenged peel and eat shrimp, and then extra doses of confusion are added in as a stool softener. The dialogue limps along on a series of bad clichés mixed with mongoloid dribblings and much like Conquistador Coffee, the action scenes give a new meaning to the word "vomit." Everything here is bad. Really Bad. HELLA BAD! About the only tolerable aspect of the film is Wings Hauser as a drunken mystery man named Mike who swears he is either Tom Waits, or Harry Connick Jr. after gargling brackish water. He tinkles away on the piano as he tinkles away on the carpet. It's very telling about the Hauser's faith in this little cinematic enema that when he is on screen, he is either crouched over, blurred, or ducking behind the scenery. Top this all off with an ending that makes the previous 96 minutes add up to one big all-for-nothing-stupid-slag-should-have-seen-it-coming goose egg and you can just imagine Coleman Francis rising from his grave. He takes one look at this bubble headed botch job, and lumbers back to purgatory, knowing that his eternal rest will be somewhat easier: there is a film worse than his Red Zone Cuba.
The public has a right to know just whose bright idea this was. Who was sitting around at Anchor Bay, pushing paperclips across their cubicle desk, wondering why they cancelled Cop Rock, when the idea to release Guns and Lipstick belched out of their insane membrane? The DVD is perfectly serviceable; decent anamorphic widescreen picture, adequate Dolby Digital 2.0 stereo sound, and a standard trailer. But why on EARTH or any other planet in the Milky Way was this chosen? Did someone lose a bet? Was it part of some clandestine divorce settlement between Angelina Jolie and Billy Bob Thornton? Was it all those Jell-o shooters with Sally Kirkland? It makes no sense. With the vast amount of underrepresented titles in the DVD market today, utter nonsense like Guns and Lipstick should be reserved for death row inmates who, even with Old Sparky starring them in the non-repentant mug, require a last speck of quasi-entertainment before total organ meltdown. However, in most states, exposure to Guns and Lipstick is still considered cruel and unusual punishment. Or it should be.
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Scales of Justice
Studio: Anchor Bay
• Theatrical Trailer
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