Whoopi Goldberg (The Color Purple) gives one of her earliest and finest film performances as Terry Doolittle, a computer programmer who unwittingly becomes embroiled in an international espionage scheme, forced to outmaneuver the CIA and KGB in this riotous 1986 Cold War comedy. Doolittle, the outspoken and irreverent employee of an international bank, is working overtime one evening when her terminal receives an encrypted message pleading for help from Jumpin' Jack Flash, code name for a British spy (Jonathan Pryce) trapped in Eastern Europe. At first reluctantly and then audaciously, Doolittle becomes privy to his predicament and essential to his escape while delivering a steady stream of ribald one-liners and witty slapstickwhether it's her Mick Jagger impersonation, police station meltdown, or infamous dress-caught-in-the-paper-shredder escapade at the British Consulate ball. A host of supporting talent includes Annie Potts, Jon Lovitz, Jim Belushi, the late Phil Hartman, and Stephen Collins (who shines as Marty, the mole), yet the film belongs to Whoopi. Though the plot is far-fetched and often flimsy, Penny Marshall (in her directorial debut) gives Goldberg enough latitude to showcase her immense talent in a role she obviously relishesand audiences will too. Rated R for extreme profanity and mature themes. --Lynn Gibson
Mr. Van Meter:
Do you mean you are a civilian? You don't know anything about this, do you?
I don't know dick about this! Except some guy calling himself "Jumpin' Jack Flash" taps into my computer! Telling me I gotta go to his house and get a frying pan! To call Van Halen... Van Marsen... Van Meter!
Drag the river! There are killers running around the fucking city!
How would you like me to wash your mouth out with a wire brush?
How would you like if I kicked you in the nuts so hard they get lodged in your fucking nostrils?
My, what was a vivid image, wasn't it?
Leave me alone.
I'm sorry. Unavoidably delayed in London. Queen thanks you.
[typing] Frankly, I don't give a shit about the queen. I did give a shit about you however. I sat in that restaurant feeling stupid. And hurt.
[stops typing] I mean, what happened to you? All you had to do was come and say "hi" or "thanks" or something. I mean you just left me sitting there. But no, you sent me to a restaurant with shitty bread sticks.
Sorry. I still want to to take you to dinner.
[typing] Next time I'm in London, I'll look you up