Nick Slaughter
Created by Sam Egan

I can't beleive I used to watch this...

Originally broadcast as part of CBS's (pre-Letterman) Crime Time After Prime Time series back in the nineties, Sweating Bullets featured enough cleavage in its opening credits to (almost) pass itself off as an Aaron Spelling Production. But it didn't quite make it. That pretty much sets the tone for this teasy, cheesy late night series.

Hunky Rob Stewart hams it up as NICK SLAUGHTER (really!), a pony-tailed, open Hawaiian-shirted, ex-Mountie and ex-DEA agent (huh?) turned reluctant private eye in Key Mariah in, allegedly, the Florida Keys.

Thing is, Nick'd really rather do anything than work. Especially if it involved women. Only his long-suffering, common-sense secretary and office manager (and later, business partner) Sylvie Girard kept him from bankruptcy. Aiding and abetting Nick in his interuptions (ooops! investigations) was his bleached-blonde beach bimbo and former Aussie rock star Ian.

It certainly had an international flavor. Originally backed by Canadian and Mexican money, and filmed in Mexico, it became a Canadian/Israeli production in the second season, and was filmed in Eilat, Israel. Season three was at least partially shot in South Africa. Which might explain the mountains occasionally glimpsed in the background of what was supposedly still the Florida Keys.

A guilty pleasure? A relatively harmless piece of fluff, in the Hawaiian Eye vein? A cynical attempt to cash in on the then just recently cancelled Moonlighting? A tax write-off by a bunch of international money men hoping to cash in? Or was it, perhaps, the shape of things to come, a predecessor to shows like Baywatch, which in retrospect seem almost Shakespearean in comparison.

At the time, I thought I enjoyed it. But in recently re-viewing of a 1996 straight-to-disk movie, Crisscross, possibly cobbled together from a couple of the later episodes, I can't believe I ever did. I couldn't believe how lame it was; how awkward the writing, acting and directing was, or how utterly sexless the two leads were, possessing all the sizzle and chemistry of wet cardboard. The plot made little sense, motivatations came and went, the only consistency was a sort of ineptitude alternately horrifying and hilasrious to watch.

Was Crisscross a poor representation of a show I used to watch, or an accurate sample of how I used to waste my time. If the latter, then I have to ask myself:

What the hell was I thinking?

TELEVISION

............

FILM

Respectfully submitted by Kevin Burton Smith.


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