Scott Marks noon, March 28
The old amnesia gambit taken and run with. A man survives a car wreck looking like the alien in the same director's -- Wolfgang Petersen's -- Enemy Mine. Plastic surgery metamorphoses him into Tom Berenger, but he still suffers from what the doctor calls "psychogenic amnesia," less a medical condition than a fictional convenience: he can't remember anything of a personal nature, but manages all right with the world at large ("That's the TransAmerica Building, right?"). His wife dotes on him, but then there occurs the discovery of a roll of film hidden in the humidor, showing the wife in the embrace of another man. The problem becomes: maybe the accident wasn't an accident; maybe he's still at risk. This is the most fruitful outgrowth of the far-fetched premise. And the semi-retired private dick called into the case is an amusing amalgam of arbitrary quirks: the pet-store sideline (and specifically the dog in a diaper), the pocket-sized inhaler, the 1968 Dodge Coronet, the New York Yankee cap, and of course Bob Hoskins's limey dialect. Once you get a bead on the level of mechanical tricksiness in the plot, however, it's easy to stay one step ahead of it. With Greta Scacchi and Joanne Whalley-Kilmer. 1991.