A thriller primarily about the movement of Cindy Crawford’s breasts beneath a succession of ever-smaller T-shirts, Fair Game features the model making her film-star debut. The plot: She’s a Florida lawyer who’s being hunted down by ex-KGB agents (well, what would you do if you were an unemployed KGB agent marooned in Florida?). Fair Game’s early scenes pose the greatest acting challenge to Crawford, who must strive to make her lawyer character convincing by wearing a business suit, even if it is a suit whose skirt almost fails to cover the tops of her thighs. As we know from MTV’s House of Style, however, Crawford is a plucky young woman, so she snaps a briefcase and talks about ”motions” with great efficiency. Still, she does look relieved after the KGB bombs her house and, her clothes closet aflame, is free to spend the rest of the movie making wobbly dashes to safety in tank tops and high heels.
Crawford’s costar is William Baldwin — he’s the Baldwin who’s handsome despite the fact that his head is shaped like a kangaroo’s, as opposed to, say, his brother Stephen, who’s handsome despite the fact that his head is shaped like a wedge of cheese. Baldwin plays a cop assigned to protect Crawford. You know the drill: At first they hate each other (which in Fair Game means that Crawford gets to punch Baldwin in the face), and then the hate reveals itself as suppressed lust (which in Fair Game means that immediately after the punch, they start Doing It in a moving freight car, on a train filled with KGB agents).
Under the brisk direction of Andrew Sipes, Fair Game moves right along for its scant 90 minutes, and Baldwin is more likable than his lines give him any right to be. Cindy Crawford, though, is Cindy Crawford: Her life’s work has been wearing clothes in a way that makes you want to buy them, a skill that has nothing to do with expressing emotion or reading dialogue. In a film that needs all the real actors it can get, she’s just a well-meaning personality.