Crawford is the only reason to see Fair Game. Her long, wavy tresses, and her shapely frame, often encased in tight jeans and a tank top, would probably steal the show even if the script involving Russian spies wasn’t so silly, but silly it is so the film becomes nothing more than a print ad come to life.
Crawford has one decent scene, although her delivery of the dialogue is strictly amateur night. In a computer store, the lovely model flirts with a nerdy clerk and the two exchange sexual innuendo.
"What are you doing?" she asks.
"Just fiddling with my joystick," he replies.
"Fiddling with your joystick?" she asks with a smile.
He then asks her whether she’s interested in hardware or software.
"Hardware" is the word that escapes from her luscious lips.
Watching Crawford, the straight male viewer may be tempted to fiddle with his own joystick, and if he assigns a grade to Fair Game before doing so, it would rank right up there with Citizen Kane as one of the greatest films ever. Afterward, once his hardware has gone soft and he’s able to think clearly again, he’d see it for what it is: a perfectly ordinary action movie containing the standard ingredients for the genre: car chases, a lot of breathless running to escape from enemy agents, and, of course, lots and lots of loud explosions, none of them as explosive as the star, though. She sure is a babe, but, otherwise, Fair Game is just dumb.
Brian W. Fairbanks
© 1999 Brian W. Fairbanks