By Elaine B
Recently, I commented that Swingtown would be so much better if it were on Showtime. Now I am not so sure. Tuning in to my DVR’d premiere of Billie Piper trying to be sexy, I found myself longing for Elizabeth Berkley in the smarmier and far more entertaining Razzie award-winning film Showgirls.
What’s wrong with Call Girl? Well, almost everything. First off, in spite of her perky voice-over narration (the best thing about the premiere), Belle is … Not. Very. Nice.
Sure, she’s a call girl, but after screening the Heidi Fleiss documentary airing on HBO this month, I want to wander over to Nevada and down a few shots of tequila with the ex-Hollywood Madam. I don’t want to do the same with the fictitious Belle. Like her perfect body, her mind seems airbrushed. It’s no wonder the poor girl has no friends except a lover who is dense enough to think she’s a legal secretary. Their idea of fun is to pretend they have money and take tours of houses that he, at least, can’t afford. I felt sorry for the agent and embarrassed for them. Possibly her boyfriend’s longing for wealth will come into play later in the series, but I’m not so sure.
The second bright moment comes when Belle takes a meeting with her madam and the other girls. This could have been hilarious, not unlike a whole bevy of S&TC Samanthas getting paid to do what they love best. Instead, after a few catty comments, that moment of humor was over. To be fair, this is a half-hour show and there is only so much character development that can be crammed between two demanding johns. But Weeds did fine in its opening half-hour. So did the far sexier Californication.
But what is perhaps most unforgivable about Call Girl is that it isn’t even remotely sexy. So little is bared that it resembles a Victoria’s Secret commercial (actually their lingerie commercial featuring Bob Dylan was sexier). There is no sensual lead-up to any of the encounters. Worst of all, no one seems to be having any fun until the closing moments involving a whip and saddle (by then I was longing for Piper to be on the bottom). That moment almost makes up for the earlier sex scenes that were perfunctory and oddly prudish.
Showtime, whatever possessed you to pick up this BBC series when you could have done so much better creating a remake you could call your own? You are the network that gave viewers the jaw-dropping opening episode of Queer as Folk. And if you can make a serial killer into a hero, you can make a call girl interesting. Somewhere out there lurks the reincarnation of Russ Meyer — find him and put him in a director’s chair. Victorian America needs some safe sexy fun.
Could my reaction be based on the fact that I am female? I’m not sure. Guys, was it as bad for you as it was for me?