Adventures in Parenting

Oh, to be so perfect that if a movie was made about you, everyone would know that it was a farce.

Oh, to be Jane or Jeff Blue, the hyper-wonderful, extraordinarily gifted, tastefully chic ex-CIA (or was it the FBI?) agents who karate-chop hoodlums and hoodwink terrorists in the recently released action-comedy, Undercover Blues.

Oh, they also change diapers.

Undercover Blues? How about "Nick and Nora Charles Live in the 1990s and Have a Baby"? Or "Two Secret Agents and a Baby"?

Kathleen Turner and Dennis Quaid star as the amazing Blues, who have evidently spent years secretly saving the United States and its allies from various catastrophes, using their cunning and their incredible mastery of martial arts and firearms. (Well, actually they're both experts in martial arts but Jane is the only Blue who has any marksmanship skills-- Jeff never carries a gun.) But the covert-actions routine is over: The veteran spies have taken an extended parental leave/semi-retirement to bond with their baby daughter.

OK, so they're bonding in a luxury hotel suite in New Orleans' French Quarter. The CIA definitely has a generous pension plan.

Despite their avowal to provide a "normal" life for baby Louise Jane (as Jane wants to name her) or Jane Louise (Jeff's preference), when an old colleague shows up with an assignment involving an old enemy, they spend barely five minutes debating the price before accepting.

There is absolutely no doubt that the Blues will foil the plans of their nemesis, Novacek, a mercenary arms dealer who was once a Communist official in Czechoslovakia. Played by My Left Foot's Fiona Shaw, Novacek is actually Natasha, of the Boris and Natasha cartoons, come to life.

So Jeff and Jane make quick work of Novacek, while simultaneously dealing effortlessly with a persistent but moronic street thug named Muerte (Stanley Tucci, who played Alec Baldwin's best friend in Prelude to a Kiss). "Hey Morty!" Jeff calls out with a wave. "It's Muerte! MUERTE! For death!" the would-be villain screeches in frustration.

They do it all while caring for the angelic Jane Louise (Louise Jane), who, like her parents, is too perfect to be true, and they do it without perspiring once in the oven of a New Orleans' summer.

SCREENWRITER IAN Abrams, in his first script, has taken the formula from successful movies of the 1930s and 40s--funny, intelligent, adoring couple fight the world's idiots and bad guys with witty banter and bickering. They do it all with an unlimited bank account, a wardrobe that never quits (Jane never wears the same sleepwear twice), and flawless complexions. Fifty years ago, this movie would have starred Katharine Hepburn or Rosalind Russell with Cary Grant.

Abrams created Jane and Jeff years ago for a series of short stories. But after Abrams visited New Orleans with his wife and toddler, he was inspired to make the Blues parents and send them on vacation. He shouldn't have much trouble with future work; Jane and Jeff Blue are a cinematic couple begging for a sequel or two. Even a prequel would be great: How in the world did they meet?

This movie is truly a farce, almost a slapstick. There are action scenes--silly arm-twisting, crotch kicks, and knife-throwing--but there is not an ounce of anxiety regarding the characters, not even the baby when she is at the scene of a confrontation. Everything sails smoothly for the Blues; like cartoon characters, they spring back to life with hardly a bandage necessary.

In this broad comedy, there's not a lot of room for social commentary--after Jane battles Novacek in a huge mud wrestling match (Yuck! When will female actors refuse to do mud wrestling scenes?), Jeff calls out, "Her name is Jane Louise!" His wife nods and accedes: OK, honey, you win. They buy a doll (as a prop) and tell the beleaguered but nosy police lieutenant, Sawyer, "She's a post-feminist doll....She goes to work with little sneakers on and resents it."

Tiring character clichés abound, with the offensively stereotypical, angry Latino Muerte and the hayseed Vern and Bonnie Newman (television's Tom Arnold and Park Overall), and there is some cursing. They dote on and coo to their baby, but think little of leaving her overnight with the Newmans, virtual strangers, while they confront Novacek.

But this is total fluff, a very silly and absolutely unrealistic movie, which, if you want a fantasy, may not be perfect but can be truly funny.

Judy Coode was a staff assistant at a Washington, D.C. consulting firm and a former Sojourners intern who watched movies with reckless abandon when this review appeared.

Undercover Blues. Directed by Herbert Ross. Released by MGM. 1993.