Austin Powers would be proud to see that Heather Graham shags well — and shags often — in Killing Me Softly, the kind of softcore erotic thriller most name actresses aren’t desperate enough to appear in this early in their career. Was she in such a slump that she thought humping Joseph Fiennes on film half a dozen times was her ticket to the A-list?
In Killing Me Softly — not an adaptation of the Roberta Flack song — she plays a designer of corporate CD-ROMs. I’m not convinced that the real-life Graham even knows how to insert a CD-ROM, so the credibility factor goes right out the window from frame one. Plus, every reaction shot of her suggests deer-in-the-headlights stupid (but hey, nice headlights!); nevertheless, they cast her as this happy, well-off, picture-perfect, upwardly mobile gal living in London who, one day, exchanges lustful glances with a mega-creepy Fiennes on a street corner and, within the hour, exchanges sex fluids with him without so much as asking his name.
Heather, thy name is horny! These two do it everywhere, at the drop of a hat, a needle, a thong — you pick the object. And violently! Apparently, she has no problem with vaginal chafing. His character is a mountain climber and he likes to mount her — so clever! Despite a demeanor that suggests Fiennes is a predatory nutball, the sex is so good that Graham dumps her boyfriend for Fiennes, seconds after he smashes a would-be thief’s head to a pulp in a phone booth. Y’know, for her.
You’d think that would be the first sign that her Mr. Mountaineer is an unhinged loony, but nope, Graham needs several more! Not even when, on their honeymoon, he ties a naked Graham up in knots like a freaking Gerry Anderson marionette so he can cut off her breathing while he nails her. Finally, as the clues pile up so high they threaten to topple over on her, she starts to suspect him of murdering an old girlfriend. By then, I was praying she’d become the next victim.
I know that the sex isn’t supposed to be funny, but it is here. And Graham (Acting It Poorly) looks ridiculous feigning passion with her boobs flying every which way (Bouncing Them Madly). Not only am I unsure what her character sees in Fiennes, I’m also unsure what the filmmakers saw in him, either, because with his stoic nature and half-evil smile, he comes off as autistic. Granted, an autistic who’s grrreat in bed, but autistic nonetheless.
Killing Me Softly is a tremendous embarrassment to all parties involved, so be sure to get the unrated cut; I have a sneaking suspicion the R-rated version is far less riotous. —Rod Lott
Starring that pockmarked guy who was in 
That doesn’t mean it isn’t also a hell of a lot of fun, brimming with dark humor, film-geek references, show-off set pieces and Tarantino’s patently quirky dialogue. Most notable, however, is that the writer/director snags outstanding performances from two beloved icons of 1970s B movies: Pam Grier and Robert Forster. 
Both films conclude with the four plucky young assholes coming together to unclothe the objects of their desire in front of large audiences. In the first film, they use magnets; in the second, an unspecified gaseous aphrodisiac.
