Of laughter, of course.
I don't think that there are words to describe how bad this movie is, but I'll try.
This movie is about the murder of Gianni Versaci, perpetrated by the serial killer Andrew Cunanan. Anyone not familiar with the newspapers/Geraldo/CNN coverage should know that in 1997 Cunanan killed Versace after having killed a number of his gay associates and passers by, culminating in the murder of the middle aged fashion designer and his own suicide on a yacht. The movie is the recounting of the FBI's hunt for him.
There are problems with this movie, however (understatement of the year).
Number one, the script. Written by Menachem Golam (of Delta Force, Delta Force II, etc. claim), it is wholly ignorant of police/FBI procedure, common sense, or subtlety. Much of the time, FBI agents Stephen Bauer and Renny Roker (relation of Al Roker?), talk _at_ the audience, rather than to each other or the third parties. They're relating information they're both already aware of. Or, they're telling the audience that not all the gay community is bad. The scene near the end, where all the Versace's friends sit around on the steps where he was shot among wilting flowers, was so over the top, hammily, blunt... This finds a hilarious culmination in the closing scene, where they philosophize with each other about the nature of crime and mankind, like they're in an old "Dragnet" episode.
Then, there is Shane Perdue as Andrew Cunanan, who comes across as the brat from hell, rather than a developing serial killer. His way to "emote" his alienation from society and his generally poor attitude is to say "f* you" whenever he's about to steal, kill or smash a tv set. So, after we get the picture, we're treated to his last "f* you" gesture when he kills himself rather than be arrested and says ... (guess what). Also, Shane Perdue doesn't look more than a year out of his teens, even though Cunanan was in his early thirties, which might have been partly the trigger that set him off on his killing spree. Which is surprising, considering he seems to subsist entirely on vodka and speed.
Then, there is the awful, overbearing synthesizer musak that gives the entire first half of the movie the feel of a porn flick.
But lastly, the FBI is so slow witted, they don't follow up or exploit half the leads they have. Why don't they hang a wanted poster in every motel in town, even though they _know_ he has a penchant for going to hiding in hotels, or at friend's places. Also, the briefing they gave to the collected police forces must be the most uninformative in history - which is more a reflection of script writer Globus' ignorance of police procedure and his unwillingness to do any background research. In short, this movie is no "Manhunter" or "Silence Of The Lambs".
This movie, amazingly, has something going for it, though. It is the first serial killer movie about the Versace case. Also, it is so bad, it should get _some_ kind of prize. Unintentionally, this melodramatic piece of tripe had me in stitches by the end.
If you don't pay any money for it, you might enjoy it. Wait for it on cable and view it as a high camp comedy, and you'll be alright with it. :-)
