Erin Grant (Demi Moore) had to quit her secretarial job because her deadbeat ex-husband (Robert Patrick) cost her a security clearance so she has taken up stripping for money while she fights for custody of the couple's daughter (Rumer Willis). This leads to an altercation between a handsy patron (Matt Baron) and a drunk Congressman (Burt Reynolds). The Congressman is rushed out by his security but not before an enterprising stalker of Erin's, Jerry (William Hill), snaps a picture. Jerry wants to blackmail the Congressman so he can White Knight himself into Erin's life, but doesn't realize Congressman David Dilbeck is being sponsored by a sugar baron and his hired guns. Bodies start dropping and Miami detective Garcia (Armand Assante) finds Erin thong-deep in this mess.
This movie is fine. It's bizarrely cast but that's (probably) part of the charm. Ving Rhames is a scene-stealer and Robert Patrick is giving his all, but Moore is kind of wooden, Reynolds is in a different movie, and Assante seems mildly concussed. The book is probably better. Carl Hiaasen has written very good mysteries for many years. But let's face it: the only reason anyone saw this is because Demi Moore is playing a stripper.
I love strippers. Every one I've ever met has been really cool and an extremely good judge of human nature. Because it was the 90s, of course, the core of Erin's character has to be "oh no, when will I be able to quit stripping and be respectable" which is lame and self-loathing. Real strippers deserve better representation. But you could easily pair this with Hustlers as a double-feature and have a pretty good time. Especially if you like Annie Lennox.
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