My review was written in June 1992 after watching the film at a Times Square screening room.
The wafer-thin comey "Life on the Edge" mildly mocks trendy West Coast types into New Age this and mystical that. Vanity production has few laughs and its theatrical release is not going to draw flies. Pic's faults (harsh lighted pic was lensed at New World's television studios in 1989) show up unflatteringly on the big screen. Video and TV syndication are its best bets.
Debuting feature filmmaking team of Andrew Yates (director) and Mark Ednes (writer) have concocted a sophomoric film trapping viewers at an endless party populated by bores. Occasional bon mots and stupid double entendre do not make the very long 78 minutes pass any faster.
Nebbish hero Jeff Perry is under the gun from the outset, with a day to come up with $100,000 to pay loan sharks from Las Vegas. His money is sunk in a doomed condo project, Point Andreas. Attending a party at his neighbors' home in the canyon with depressed wife Jennifer Holmes, he's trapped there with the other guests following an earthquake (film's shooting title was "The Big One").
The quake destroys Perry's home and Point Andreas sinks into the Pacific. Situation comedy ensues, limning zoftig party hostess Greta Blackburn's successful seduction of Perry and other guests; an impromptu lesbian love affair between performance artist Kat Sawyer-Young; and born-again Michael Tulin literally coming out of the closet in film's only surefire gag.
Jennifer Edwards gives a cute Julie Hagerty-esque performance as a New Age faddist into mystical pursuits like calling on Mothra (no, not the monster called to action by young native princesses in Japanese horror flicks) for spiritual guidance. Film is most similar in format to her dad Blake Edwards' 1968 Peter Sellers vehicle "The Party", but lacks that film's fluid camerawork and physical shtick.
Last half of the film lamely stresses Perry's misadventures trying to find host Andrew Prine's hidden treasure trove of gold coins. Hokey finale, reminiscent of Steve DeJarnett's "Miracle Mile", paints the lead characters into a corner and leaves them hanging.
Perry, who resembles a chunky American version of Kenneth Branagh, isn't funny with his one stupefied expression and poorly staged pratfalls. Rest of the cswt overacts, including the late Thalmus Rasulala as a survivalist type.
Pic is unrated but would probably garner an R thanks to brief topless scenes featuring Sawyer-Young and Blackburn.
