By Jeff Jarvis
November 21, 1988 12:00 PM

CBS (Sun., Nov. 20, 9 p.m. ET)


Okay, so it’s clear early on that this is a bad movie. Howard Hesseman and Ed Marinaro play New York cops who try to foil a diamond robbery in which Brooke Shields is mixed up, and they all head to England and run around with Twiggy, who plays a Scotland Yard detective. The network calls it lighthearted. I call it light-headed. But I’m paid to watch the thing. So, to amuse myself and stay awake, I make up games. I listen for the exact moments when Hesseman’s New York accent falls apart. But there’s no challenge in that game; it happens every other word. So I listen for the exact moments when Brooke’s British accent actually works, but there’s no challenge there either; that never happens. I ask which ex-model looks better these days. That’s easy: Brooke. I ask which ex-model acts better. That’s easier: Twiggy. I look for somebody in this show who acts worse than Brooke. That’s impossible. I get so desperate that I even stop the tape, back it up and watch in slo-mo as Brooke runs by the camera in her tight black bathing suit. No, not for the reason you think. I’m insulted that you’d think such a thing; I thought we knew each other better by now. No, my reasons are even worse: I thought I spotted a few telltale curdles of cellulite on her left thigh, and I thought this looked like news—albeit sleazy news. Brooke with cottage cheese? Stop those presses! But after playing the tape back a dozen times, with consultation from women down the hall, the verdict was inconclusive. So forget that game. But at least, by then, the show was almost over. And I was still awake. And sometimes, that’s all I can ask.