A highly satisfying and only slightly dirty-dealing cat-and-mouse game, or really cat-and-cat, that opposes two feminine archetypes, the contemporary career woman (and not without personal sacrifices: "You're not a happy person," her boss observes) and the classical femme literally fatale, the independent and the parasite, the equal-rights competitor and the predatory vampire, the simple soap-and-water type and the artful wigs-and-makeup type. The first of these happens to be a Justice Department data analyst who longs to get out from behind her computer terminal and into the "field" -- and in particular onto the deceased-husband-littered trail of the second. And what more meaningful a stepping stone to career advancement? The sexual politics of all this are discreet and undogmatic (but provocative enough to offset any mere unctuousness in the storytelling); and director Bob Rafelson, in his clear-eyed, level-gazed, matter-of-fact appraisals of female bodies and postures and garments and whatnots -- no different from his appraisals of a Hawaiian volcano or a Seattle ferry or other fascinating sights on the modestly exotic map-hopping itinerary -- demonstrates himself to be a trustworthy ally of the one type and stout-heartedly unbeguiled by the other one, even without the little matter of the string of dead husbands. Debra Winger and Theresa Russell are evenly matched, and of championship caliber, in their respective roles of huntress and enchantress. Sami Frey, Nicol Williamson, Dennis Hopper, James Hong. (1987) — Duncan Shepherd