#33 | March 19 - 26, 1998  

Now that the danger has passed, we can all admit just how scary things were for a couple months there. First there was the news that the price of room service was up by more than 50% in Tokyo. Then came word that New York was instituting a mandatory 40% rate hike for all cab companies operating on the island of Manhattan. It seemed inevitable that Moscow would lose its hard-fought top spot on the list of the world's most expensive cities.

Fortunately, the capital's cinemas realized what a blow it would be to Russia's patriots if the only remaining remnant of the country's former superpower status was lost and so stepped in with some stop-gap measures. Here's what they came up with: Kinomir charges 100 rubles for premiere shows and 90 rubles for opening-week evening shows, also opens "Elite Club" ticket window, where aspiring nouveaux riches can pay an additional 25% for tickets stamped "VIP"; American House of Cinema charges a flat rate of 80 rubles; Cinema Center bumps up prices to 70 rubles for opening-week evening shows; Dome Theater holds steady at 50 rubles but installs cut-rate sound system that renders all dialogue unintelligible, ostensibly to encourage viewers to patronize the other, more expensive theaters.

And with that Moscow's "Most Expensive City" status was saved and potentially damaging social unrest averted. So as you're forking out 15 or more bucks to see a year-old film don't say to yourself, "I'm getting ripped off." Instead think, "I'm lucky to be participating in a elite activity that confirms not only Moscow's but also my own elite status in the eyes of international businessmen." Believe me, you'll feel better.

And boy do you have a wealth of options this weekend. You can pay 70 or 80 rubles to see the formulaic teen-slasher flick I Know What You Did Last Summer. Or you can pay 90 or even 110. Oh what a feeling! As Devo said, "Use your freedom of choice."

Of course, I Know Whom You Porked Last Weekend is more than just paint-by-numbers horror fare. It is also from the pen of Scream-writer Kevin Williamson, which is the only reason the movie was made in the first place. Even if it is based on a novel, this thing virtually screams out senior honors thesis that has been sitting in a drawer somewhere for a few years. There's nothing unusual about this: the same forces dragged Tarantino's True Romance script out of dormancy once his brand name was established. And right this minute there is a whole grab bag of projects in the works that are in some way related to the three guys responsible for South Park.

Nevertheless, the Williamson brand is notable for its unusual stamina. Scream is already on the second of what could be a string of sequels to rival Jason Voorhees. And now I Knew Your Mom When She Was a $20 Whore has also spawned an instant sequel. This represents an important step in brand fortification: an equally impressive take at the box office for part two could indicate Williamson's emergence from the ranks of Paula Abduls and Tommy Tutones to enjoy the long-term job security of a Madonna or Elton John. Considering how many new brands falter significantly (often fatally) at the Resurrecting Old Projects stage, it would be worthwhile to determine exactly what the makers of I Know Where We Can Score Some Dope did right. Marketing theory dictates that a repeat success (the theorem applies equally well to chocolate bars or discount burger deals as to movies) can best be achieved by isolating those aspects that were responsible for the original triumph and emphasizing hell out of them.

Now, a layman might jump to the conclusion that Scream's success was the result of clever writing and its sorta original postmodern approach to the teen slasher genre. So confronted with a Kevin Williamson's script that is neither clever nor remotely original, our hasty layman would probably deem the enterprise hopeless.

Fortunately (for whom I have no idea), the consummate professionals responsible for I Know How Many Chicks Clinton Nailed Last Year dug a little deeper and found the true essence of Scream's charm: big-breasted female star of Fox's Party of Five series plays intelligent (which intelligence necessarily goes out the window whenever horror-movie logic demands dunce-like behavior), prudish slasher target and has less intelligent (and therefore bigger-breasted) best friend.

In this case, Jennifer Love Hewitt is the busty Party of Fiver making the leap to the big screen. Despite her more impressive bosom, she is on the whole even less attractive than Scream's Neve Campbell, so it's my guess that she'll be leaping back to prime time before long. Stupid Best Friend duty is handled ably by daytime Emmy-winner Sarah Michelle Gellar, whose tits also make a brief appearance in Scream 2.

The movie essentially boils down to the two girls and their menfolk being chased around a North Carolina fishing village (although no one seems to have a typical Southern drawl, the working-class types can be identified by their vaguely Midwestern accents) by the Gorton's fisherman. This is a rather intriguing move. He may rack up an impressive body count by film's end, and he certainly wields his shiny metal hook with admirable efficiency, but nothing the slickered stalker is even remotely scary. Maybe it's the show-offy way Mr. Gorton never breaks into a run when stalking his prey or just the residual effects of that feel-good ad campaign for fish sticks. Whatever the reason, director Jim Gillespie has a boring, non-frightening serial killer on his hands and must resort to an assortment of unrelated false-alarms to take the place of suspense or actual terror.

Elsewhere on screen, you might notice a generic curly-haired blond guy (Ryan Phillippe--that can't be his real name) playing an alcoholic quarterback with the unlikely name Barry. His job is to be stupid, selfish, and short-tempered--so he can safely be disposed of before the final reel.

Freddie Prinze Jr. is Hewitt's obligatory Sensitive Boyfriend. Prinze made an outstanding debut in The House of Yes, but he doesn't have a whole lot to work with here. I felt something approaching genuine empathy for Fred as he was made to utter "Listen to yourselves, you guys sound like a bunch of vigilantes." It's hard to imagine a more inane line coming from someone who believes he has played at least a 25% part in murdering someone. On the other hand, it would have made a much more appropriate tag line than the "If you're going to bury the truth, make sure it stays buried" that adorns the movie's posters.

By the way, don't let the above give you the idea that I Know Your Unlisted Phone Number is totally unwatchable. There's plenty of semi-intentional humor, plus the kind of novel use of gravity by a rope and pulley against a person's body weight that I've only ever read about before. And the "bummer" title was just an excuse to quote The Young Ones.