"Wild Orchid" opens up with that trick used heavily during the late 80s of cueing drifting saxophone music as foreshadowing of erotic things to come. The film follows a particularly convoluted and downright nonsensical storyline involving an uninspiring globe hopping middle-aged woman, her naive young female protégé, a mysterious millionaire with a penchant for revealing his chest hair, and some sort of "deal" that shows itself to be nothing more than a poorly played out McGuffin.
Mickey Rourke brings his usual brand of creepy machismo to the role of the millionaire. His calculating scoundrel via faux-romantic lead is quite a similar part to the one he played in the heavily flawed but comparatively genius "9 1/2 Weeks" a few years earlier (notably by the same screenwriter). His character's personality is bereft any emotion, and at times feels like a complete rip-off of the one James Spader greatly pulled off in "sex, lies, & videotape".
With that in mind, though, Rourke's performance is award winning compared to model Carré Otis' portrayal of the fumbling, perhaps virginal, seemingly sleepwalking female lead. For a character involved in every scene of sexual allure and provocation that account for the film's real reason for existing, she appears frustrated, awkward and bored. Perhaps she mimics the audience in this regard.
The real trouble with these sorts of films, of which there are far too many, is that they attempt to stretch several interspersed hot sex scenes across a weak foundation of a plot teeming with intrigue. Beyond the dreadful acting, the rice paper thin storyline, and the elevator musical score, the love scenes are so tepid they're likely to inspire abstinence.
Mickey Rourke brings his usual brand of creepy machismo to the role of the millionaire. His calculating scoundrel via faux-romantic lead is quite a similar part to the one he played in the heavily flawed but comparatively genius "9 1/2 Weeks" a few years earlier (notably by the same screenwriter). His character's personality is bereft any emotion, and at times feels like a complete rip-off of the one James Spader greatly pulled off in "sex, lies, & videotape".
With that in mind, though, Rourke's performance is award winning compared to model Carré Otis' portrayal of the fumbling, perhaps virginal, seemingly sleepwalking female lead. For a character involved in every scene of sexual allure and provocation that account for the film's real reason for existing, she appears frustrated, awkward and bored. Perhaps she mimics the audience in this regard.
The real trouble with these sorts of films, of which there are far too many, is that they attempt to stretch several interspersed hot sex scenes across a weak foundation of a plot teeming with intrigue. Beyond the dreadful acting, the rice paper thin storyline, and the elevator musical score, the love scenes are so tepid they're likely to inspire abstinence.