MOVIE REVIEW : A MISBEGOTTEN ‘MOON’ FROM PRINCE

Prince is one of pop music’s most gifted and enigmatic figures. But talent and mystery are just two of the many key ingredients missing from “Under the Cherry Moon” (citywide), a dismal flop that will probably be Exhibit A for years to come in any debate over the wisdom of letting pop stars make their own vanity Hollywood projects.

Prince both stars in and directs the film, which was shot in black and white and (thanks to crack cinematographer Michael Ballhaus) has a sultry, film noir look that seems designed to recapture some of the glamour and romance of the pop idol’s favorite 1940s dramas. Unfortunately, none of this drama or romance ever manages to surface, even for a moment, in this misbegotten film. Most of the scenes are so awkward, so hopelessly inept that the whole affair looks like a student film that somehow inherited a multimillion-dollar budget.

Even with a sound track full of dazzling Prince originals, the movie has no real passion or fireworks. If “Purple Rain” gave us the thrill of seeing a film star born, then “Cherry Moon” has the dreary air of a star vehicle born under a bad sign--it might well be called “Under the Cherry Bomb.”

Prince is Christopher Tracy, an itinerant American piano player who does double duty as a gigolo, entertaining affluent vacationers along the French Riviera. The movie opens with Tracy at the piano, trying to seduce a rich divorcee (Francesca Annis), aided by Tricky (Jerome Benton), who slips his pal helpful hints on cocktail napkins. Tracy is a hustler who’s ready to reform and he meets his match in Mary Sharon (newcomer Kristin Scott-Thomas), a spoiled young heiress with a real sense of style--she greets her guests at her gala 21st birthday party clad only in a towel.

The rest might be straight out of the chapter of movie history titled “Addicted to Love.” Tracy turns up the heat and our ice princess’ heart melts. The only thing keeping these angels apart is Mary’s dastardly dad (Steven Berkoff), who’ll do anything to ruin their romance. In theory, with a dandy like Prince, who dwells in the land of erotic dreams, this could have been the start of a magnificent obsession. Instead, it’s the beginning of a resoundingly dull fashion parade.

Prince and his screenwriter, Becky Johnston, don’t have a clue on how to construct a compelling story line, much less a tragic love affair. (At one point, Mary actually sighs, “Christopher, I’m afraid.” Of what? “Of us.”) Worse still, there’s absolutely no chemistry between the love-struck pair. Watching them tango on a balcony over the sea, cooing woefully lame words of love, you find yourself more intrigued by Prince’s paisley outfit--you wonder which set of buttons really work, the ones on the front of the jacket, at the back or along his pants leg.

The film attempts to emphasize the gulf between this idle rich girl and her scruffy suitor, but Tracy is so pampered, self-absorbed and sleekly feline that it’s hard for the audience to imagine any rigid social barriers between them. Anyway, it’s hard to take a gigolo seriously who wears frilly, white threads that look as though they were made out of leftover material from Ginger Rogers’ feathery gown in “Top Hat.”

In “Purple Rain,” Prince played to his strengths, not only showing off his Stagger Lee stage magic, but revealing a glimpse of a troubled, vulnerable man-child, tormented as much by his rakish charms as by his adolescent fury. Here, Prince clumsily tries to show another side, the exuberant imp. But without anyone on the set to provide a fresh perspective (the film’s original director, Mary Lambert, was fired early in the shooting), Prince falters badly.

His comedy scenes with Benton play like bad improv sketches, with Prince coming off like a second-rate Morris Day and Benton like a loutish buffoon. Coated with thick makeup, a spit-curl positioned over his left eye, Prince often appears more prissy than paramour. He’s so full of twitchy, self-conscious gestures that you never feel any jolt of sexual tension--it’s as if he studied the art of movie seduction by watching old Paul Lynde movies.

Prince clearly has more enchanting heroes--he makes a point of showing us that Tracy keeps a Miles Davis album propped up by his bed. But none of Davis’ sensuous cool rubs off on this ponderously dull picture. “Under the Cherry Moon” (MPAA-rated PG-13) doesn’t show us a star falling in love, just a guy who’s fallen in love with his act.

‘UNDER THE CHERRY MOON’

A Warner Bros. Film presentation. Producers Bob Cavallo, Joe Ruffalo & Steve Fargnoli. Director Prince. Writer Becky Johnston. Camera Michael Ballhaus. Music Prince & the Revolution. Editor Eva Gardos. Production Design Richard Sylbert. Costume Design Marie France. Creative Consultant Mary Lambert. With Prince, Jerome Benton, Steven Berkoff, Emmanuelle Sallet, Alexandra Stewart, Francesca Annis and Kristin Scott-Thomas.

Running time: 1 hour 38 minutes.

MPAA rating: PG-13 (Parents are strongly cautioned. Some material may be inappropriate for children under 13.)