The Cool Surface

I caught about 15 minutes of this on cable while on a trip. It intrigued me enough to rent it. What a mistake. Robert Patrick plays a writer. Early in the film, his writing is criticized because his characters can't make up their minds...well this film suffers from the same thing. The characters change so much there's no chance for the audience to start caring about what's happening.

Such a pity! The Cool Surface is one of those films in which the viewer can tell early on what the filmmaker is trying to do, but it's so clunky it has a paint-by-numbers feel. On any level of honest, objective scrutiny it is uneven and uninteresting. The sum is so much less than the underwhelming parts! Hatcher plays her role as a sultry siren way over the top. Considering her considerable natural talents and attributes, the result is beyond overkill. Robert Patrick alternates between a boring, sulking wimp and an unconvincing psycho. I don't remember seeing Patrick in anything else, but I hope he's better than this. Hatcher sure is. As to Matt McCoy, this is the first role I've seen him in where he isn't downright creepy (also a natural attribute?) - maybe just because he has so little screen time. Oh yeah, there are a few sex scenes, including Hatcher cameoing her bare chest (remember Seinfeld: "Yes, they're real, and they're spectacular!"). Without Hatcher's visibility in these gratuitous sex scenes, this film probably never would have seen the light of day. As it is, The Cool Surface apparently went straight to video and has only resurfaced as Hatcher has recently risen from the ashes like the mythical phoenix. No deep messages here, just glossed-over sleaze - a barely par production to give the otherwise unemployed (and woefully under-utilized) something to do. No great resume builder for anyone involved. A real time waster!

Fantasies pose as realities in this film of double personalities double crossing themselves. When aspiring "too soft" writer meets sexy actress next door, he rises with inspiration as she plays great reach-withdraw games to keep him creative. But when the writer's screenplay gets bought, intent, motivation, and fantasy all meld into one, big potboiler. The beasts of lust, greed, and ambition surface within the characters, souring to a conclusion.

Some pretty talented people cut their teeth on juicy, B-characters and seedy situations in this film. Namely, Teri Hatcher, Robert Patrick, and the writer-director, Erik Anjou. There is even a possible subtextual argument on the dangers of secondary experience supplanting primary experience. It also goes out of its way to damn Capitalism A La Hollywood. After all, the screen writer is merely making his material saleable. It's not his fault that he can only write about what he experiences.

All in all, this is quite a respectable entry into the late-night Cable Hell of the Sleaze-B, Thriller genre.

Being the goddess that she is, Teri Hatcher makes this movie a must see. Although burdened with a weak story and a poor supporting cast, Teri shines.

Jarvis Scott (Robert Patrick) returns to home in L.A. after finish writing his novel in isolation. His girlfriend committed suicide which affected his writing. His editor Chazz Stone (Matt McCoy) hates the new book. He becomes invested in his neighbors' volatile relationship. He writes a new book with him and his neighbor Dani Payson (Teri Hatcher) as the leads. Dani reveals the abusive relationship is actually a rehearsal for a play. Jarvis starts dating Dani but she keeps pushing him to the edge.

This is a rather sad and boring erotic thriller. It has no thrills to speak of. The erotica comes from Teri Hatcher. I don't know if they're real. They are spectacular but they're not enough to make a bad movie good. The actors may be willing but nothing else is. The script is horribly boring. The production is ripped out of every bad 90s late night cable movie.