Fridae

Catwoman is a cat-astrophic calamity of a summer movie - but I'm getting ahead of myself.

Let's backtrack and start with the plot: Catwoman tells the tail - excuse me - the tale of meek-as-mouse graphic designer Patience Philips (Halle Berry) who works for Hedare Beauty - a conglomerate which churns out beauty products that induce headaches and fainting spells.

Late one night, Patience stumbles upon a hush-hush secret about the new "Beau-Line" face cream and finds herself "flushed" off to meet a watery demise. Fortunately, she is resuscitated by an Egyptian Mau cat with life-reviving halitosis, and finds herself endowed with the heightened senses and reflexes of a super-kitty.

Among the more impressive abilities she acquired are: the skill to give herself a stylish haircut in 10 seconds, the ability to consume (and not throw up) massive amounts of canned tuna, the embarrassing tendency to hiss at dogs in public and the enviable ability of out-cat-walking Tyra Banks.

What follows is the usual cat-and-mouse game as our heroine races against time to clear her name after being framed for double murders, stop the launch of "Beau-Line," deliver her brand of (c)law and order, and engage in a climatic catfight with platinum bitch Laurel Hedare (Sharon Stone looking stunning in designer togs).

With the simplistic plot out of the way, let's talk about the aspects of Catwoman that really get my milk boiling.

To begin with, there's feline femme fatale's fashion fatal cat-suit. (Dis)credit must surely be given to the costume designer for this hellcat of a costume which succeeds in transforming the usually Berry fine-looking Ms Halle into a mangled furball straight out of a fetish convention.

In her Catwoman persona, Halle Berry pussyfoots around wearing an awkward mask, ghastly open-toed sandals, made-from-aluminum-foil claws, and a pair of slashed leather pants which looks as if Ms Berry had one too many accidents with her bullwhip.

Then there are the Razzie-worthy performances from the entire Catwoman cast.

Despite her Oscar win for Monster's Ball, Ms Berry fails to sink her claws into the character of Patience Philips/ Catwoman and chooses instead to play the former as a "fun-deficient" bully magnet and the latter as an amorous feline long overdue for spaying. With the exception of the numerous occasions (I lost count) she's delivering nut-crunching kicks to some poor guy's groin, Ms Berry's Catwoman is about as intimidating as Hello! Kitty.

As Berry's love interest Tom Lone, Benjamin Bratt seems to have cornered the market for playing all-round-good-detective. He shows off his to-die-for-bod (what else is new?) and acts as if he's just sleepwalked over from the set of Ms Congeniality where he plays (surprise surprise) another detective.

The rest of the soon-to-be-out-of-work cast include Lambert Wilson (George Hedare) whose idea of evil is to spit out his lines in a crisp British accent while wearing a constipated expression, and Sharon Stone as Laurel Hedare, George's over-the-hill-but-refuse-to-be-forgotten supermodel who gives new meaning to the term "thick skin."

However, the honour of hammering in the final nail to the kitty coffin jointly goes to French director Pitof's inept direction and his penchant for shooting scenes as if suspended on a trapeze, and the lame script which is riddled with predictable one-liners and "what the?" scenes including the one where Halle Berry rubs catnip rapturously over her face.

And it's a shame really. With its high potential for camp - imagine Halle Berry and Sharon Stone attempting to out-vamp each other - and its undeveloped subtexts on female empowerment and the manufactured nature of feminine beauty, Catwoman could have been a queer classic in the making.

Unfortunately, Catwoman takes itself too seriously and completely undermines its camp and vamp values - thereby creating a cat concoction that should be thrown out together with week-old kitty litter.