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After a quick trip to the Five Finger Discount Store for new clothes, Nikki spends the next hour or so adding new felonies to her rap sheet in an effort to dress and arm herself for the adventure ahead. During this time she also manages to convince Louden to trust her, even though she's just stolen two cars, robbed three stores and is walking around with an unlicensed handgun. If you find this improbable I'd ask you to remember that Louden is a lawyer, and the highest calling of any attorney is to help a pretty blond convict cut a swath of destruction across Manhattan. As I recall, Wendy was not only more attractive than Nikki, but was also very rich. I'm not sure how big of a bitch she'd have to be to make life with a girl who couldn't finish high school seem preferable, but I guess that's why some people call me shallow. Louden, a better man than I, obviously chooses Nikki and they ­ with the cougar ­ embark on a wacky adventure to clear her name, and show him that the key to true love is to follow your heart.

There's no way I can sit here and tell you this movie is NOT as bad as it sounds. James Foley would later redeem himself somewhat by directing Glengarry Glen Ross, but it's clear that madcap humor is just not in his skill set. I try not to bring up screenwriters only when they fail but neither Andrew Smith nor Ken Finkleman come up on Google that much, so I don't feel so bad. Their script actually contains some pretty snappy dialogue, but it also contains too many moments of overt, winking self reference. The tone frequently shifts from "disposable but modestly clever comedy" to "jumping up and down on a table and farting". And of course as I already mentioned, the director ­ whom Madonna personally chose ­ had no idea how to shoot any of it.

Speaking of Madge, if you're waiting for me to destroy her performance, you're in for a disappointment. She's not even that good of a singer, so to expect Nikki Finn to be anything other than Madonna pretending to be herself at 17 is to delude yourself. But luckily this is all the role requires, and there's no denying she does it well. Griffin Dunne's impression of Steve Carell is downright eerie, and the cougar even gets in on the action once in a while. With a couple of exceptions, the cast really isn't the problem here. It's the wildly uneven tone, an inappropriate choice of director and his camera's insistence on paying too much attention to Madonna that do this film in. Take out all that unbecoming slapstick, hire Sydney Pollack, whack Madonna's voice from the soundtrack ­ and you've actually got yourself a fun little film.

Who's That Girl is a shining example of a good movie trapped inside a bad one. I can completely see what they were going for, and I like it just fine. I'd even sit through it again. But if you can't see the movie inside the movie, I'm afraid this is going to look like a campy, outdated, moss-covered pedestal upon which a powerful woman once worshipped herself. To call this a star vehicle is an understatement. To describe it as a vanity project displays a lack of vision. Perhaps Madonna's acting career might have turned out differently if she'd pulled a Juliette Lewis and stuck to largely undemanding roles. Probably not, but here at least, I wish everyone had put a little more energy into making this a fun film, instead of appeasing the ego of a star intoxicated by their own fame.

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