By People Staff
January 07, 1985 12:00 PM

Dirtier and hotter than Harry, Eddie Murphy is also the funniest screen cop since the Keystones. From the moment he flashes his radiantly lewd grin, this comedy caper is off and running. Murphy plays a Young Turk on the Detroit force who horns in on Beverly Hills police turf to nose out the killer of his buddy. First he snags a suite at a chic hotel by pretending to be a reporter on a Michael Jackson story (“If Michael calls, tell him I’ll catch him later”). At a swank art gallery, he talks his way past an espresso-sipping sleazo—in a sidesplitting cameo by Bronson (Risky Business) Pinchot—to find the manager, a childhood friend whose employer might hold the key to the murder. That’s when Murphy meets the B.H.P.D. Dressed like bank tellers, with manners to match (“Please put your hands up, sir”), these Beverly Hills officers—from Ronny Cox’s chief to Judge Reinhold and John Ashton’s subordinates—are hopeless bunglers. Plausibility inevitably takes a backseat to fun, but a more incisive comic approach to police methods would have been welcome (see story, p. 30). Still, director Martin (Going in Style) Brest has a quirky camera eye and a knack for details. Murphy, only 23, has never been more likable. He had star help in his first two movies (Nick Nolte in 48 HRS. and Dan Aykroyd in Trading Places), but he’s king of his own hill this time. Even when the plot misfires, Murphy comes out shooting from the funny bone—and it’s bullseyes all the way. (R)

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