A sketch artist for the police helps a witness recall who she saw leaving the scene of a murder, and discovers that the person is his wife. Not willing to believe she was responsible, he resketches the pictures so they don't look like her, and he begins his own investigation of the murder.
스케치, 枕边杀机, 桃色惊魂, The Sketch Artist, Falso identikit, El rostro de la muerte, Gyilkosság nagyvonalakban, Colors of Crime, Retrato Falado, Doppio identikit
USA
Germany16
USA
Germany
USA
Man, I really liked this one. And no, it's not because Fahey's eyes are like staring deep into a mesmerizing ocean depth. Though I'm sure that helps. This is a sleepy noir tale of a man who suspects his wife (an unrecognizable Sean Young!) of murder paralleling the demise of their relationship. How you start to feel like you're sleeping with a stranger correlates to a feeling of someone you know possibly getting away with murder, "did I ever actually know this person?" and how that uneasiness slowly seeps into your subconscious. You wanna confront the relationship, you wanna confront the murderer, but you can't because you don't want to believe it's true. For-profit art and high fashion juxtaposing against…
His last night of love,
tonight,
moseys onward with a limp cigarette loaded and lit
by a warm, tempered L.A. breeze,
hugging the sweat on your body.
You stay up late,
for Her.
Your mind leaves an oil slick upon the night,
on every crevice.
"I need a ride."
Hundreds of faces filter your mind,
tonight,
unsure of the future as She strays farther by every pastel sunrise
distracting the eyes.
"You're real."
No found answers,
tonight,
squeal incoherently after another night of drinking
by the incessant lapping of the greenblue ocean
there's a new hit
sticking to the radio waves tonight.
Bang.
Bang.
"I did love you."
The cigarette smoke lingers,
the sun dazzles your skin,
the sounds massage your temples
and a little gunsmoke fills the lungs.
You step in a puddle,
tonight,
someone's car is leaking oil.
"I need a ride."
almost every movie from what i personally deem them to be drew barrymore's golden years when she was trying to jumpstart her career after very public childhood addiction issues is actually great. i will not be taking questions at this time nor will i allow any disagreement! ok this isn't actually a drew movie its hot bitch lightly mulleted jeff fahey's show and drew's just briefly along for the ride but still. still! the thing about a decent amount of these movies is that while derivative and typical in every way i don't care about that all good god who cares why must we as a movie-watching people constantly expect the wheel to be reinvented, they're shot & directed by actually…
Feels like an R-rated spinoff of Diagnosis Murder, minus all of the hospital administration.
As a thriller it's not very satisfying (tawdry sex scenes aside) but hear me out: as a character study of a stereotypical '80s-style hero being dragged against his will into the '90s, it's fascinating. Fahey is the walking embodiment of at least a dozen 80s action movie cliches, only here there's hardly any action for him to get into. He bangs his fist on a door; later he scrambles over a garden wall. He drinks beer out of a very large teacup. He even has sex with his own wife! I was most nervous about him losing his job, due to his inability to follow basic orders, show up even remotely on time, or not tamper with crucial evidence.
But Jeff's…
I had finished "Fleshtone"(1994) and was like, "I'm gonna need to hang around early 90s LA some more". That scene at the end where sketch artist Jack looks at fashion designer wife, Rayanne, as she points his gun at him next to her murderer accomplice, Paul, lovers wanting Silver Fashions to continue unabated, his heartbreak gets me every time. He wants so badly for her to be innocent but his sketch of her, from memory of pizza delivery eyewitness (Drew), is too spot on and his specially designed earring to her was found at the crime scene.
But does he not try to! I think I return to this easy is because of the smoky bar/trash alley/ midnight escorts score,…
Jeff Fahey’s too-cool-for-school persona wouldn’t fit as well in earlier eras, but this otherwise feels like a classic noir plot brought to life in the 90s. A police sketch artist meets a witness who starts describing the woman she saw - who the police suspect of murder. But the person she describes, and Fahey draws, is his own wife. Terrific set-up. A bit disappointing that it doesn’t exactly capitalise on it, but it’s one of those movies that’s enjoyable enough to float through even if it doesn’t offer many surprises.
They keep Sean Young out of scenes far too long in between. How are we to doubt and suspect her when it feels like she's barely in it?
'90s Showtime movie trash directed by noted cinematographer Phedon Papamichael that has a pretty great premise, in which a police sketch artist (Jeff Fahey) draws a murder suspect from the account of a young eyewitness (Drew Barrymore), which reveals itself to look exactly like his wife (Sean Young)! The sketch artist proceeds to obscure the drawing and subsequent investigation so that he can get to the bottom of things himself. "Not bad, not bad," I was thinking and nodding along as it hit that first Tubi commercial break (so many more ad breaks on Tubi these days... *sheds single tear* ...almost ready to kms if that atrocious Judge Judy spot doesn't go away soon).
Unfortunately, this doesn't get quite as…
An overheated thriller stuffed with sex, mullets, and murder, "Sketch Artist" is an almost passable piece of early '90s drama. Starring Jeff Fahey as the titular law enforcement minion, the film finds Fahey's character in hot water when his girlfriend winds up on his sketch pad. The story dips into mid-level mystery and uncomfortable acts of love; and the production, featuring cinematography by Wally Pfister, is slick in a very small-scale way. It all ends up a combination of performances, story, and characters too drenched in artifice to register as anything better than mediocre.
I think this wanted to be something akin to a DTV "Sea of Love" but it doesn't quite hit that level of intense personal introspection, however star Jeff Fahey is nice and laconic in this. The story that's here tho feels a bit too thin to sustain an 85 minute movie. I said (or typed) to Lou about a half hour in that everything that happened up to that point could've easily fit inside of the three minute opening credits scene.
I know that with movies like these, it's more about mood, and I guess on that front the movie's a bit more successful as Fahey glowers real well, and there's just enough of a wisp of mystery in trying…
I’m a total mark for this type of domestic upset thriller, especially when you’ve got people like Jeff Fahey (often shirtless and disheveled) and Drew Barrymore (same year as Poison Ivy, vixen phase) in the cast putting in work — the central mystery is fine but it’s histrionics are what make it work, including a requisite angry and sweaty sex scene that would likely never be shot with marquee talent now — good fun!
