Created by Peter M. Lenkov
"Here. Hold my weiner."
-- Parker displays his cutting-edge wit.
Somebody somewhere must have made a list of every annoyingly dumb-ass cliche and stereotype about TV private eyes that was ever driven into the ground, and then put them all in this one two-hour 1990 cheese buffet. Pretty boy Jeff Fahey stars as LA P.I. PARKER KANE, a leather-jacket, jeans, and cowboy boots-wearing rebel without a clue. He drinks beer, has a cat he rescued from the junkyard, drives a classic rare sportscar (a Kharman Ghia, in this case), hangs around a poolhall/bar and lives in a funky loft. He has an ex-wife and he's an ex-cop and ex-jock (Golden Gloves). He narrates the flick in a attempt at hardboiled tough-guy talk that's about as gritty as an average episode of The Brady Bunch. Oh, and he lets us in on the rules by which he lives ("I like to call 'em Parker's Principles. Know 'em, memorize 'em and live by 'em.") Jan, take notes, before Marcia does.
He, of course, doesn't like violence, but packs an automatic. He plays piano, shoots pool and drives a motorcycle without a helmet so we can all admire his on-the-edge recklessness and his nice, blow-dried doo. This is all supposed to make us think of him as a wild and crazy guy who's also as charming as a new puppy, but Kane comes off as conceited, smug, over-confident, rude, grandstanding egotistical jerk.
In this one-off (one shudders to think it might have been a pilot) Parker investigates a friend's death and uncovers a plot involving illegal toxic waste dumping. But enough about network television programming.
Add two points for featuring soul belter Patti LaBelle as a nightclub singer, but take away five for being executive produced by Joel "Die Hard" Silver.
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