Joan Collins and Joanna Pacula wig out in Sweet Deception

Whoever greenlit Sweet Deception (1998) knew it was unmitigated crap. That’s how we ended up with not one but two very special guest stars: Kate Jackson (wearing the type of gaudy press-on nails favored by Linda Richman) and Joan Collins (styling wigs and giving manicures from a wheelchair). We’ll get to those two later. First we need to talk about Jack Scalia’s Southern accent, the least convincing thing in a movie full of ’em.

Joanna Pacula stars as Risa, the second Mrs. Gallagher. Her husband is Fin (Peter LaCroix), a wealthy serial philanderer we meet as he stashes millions of dollars in cash in an offshore safe deposit box. He isn’t long for this world, which is just as well because little about Fin and Risa’s pairing, or casting, makes sense. Equally nonsensically, Scalia plays Brett Newcomb, Fin’s slick Southern law partner in a San Francisco firm. He calls Risa “darlin'” about 87 times in the course of 90 minutes, sometimes while wearing a bow tie, as if lost on his way to a dinner theater production of Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil.

Kate Jackson plays her embittered ex role a bit broadly.

The first Mrs. Gallagher, Kit (Kate Jackson), is also in the picture, making a scene at a soiree attended by her ex and casually greeting his new wife with an insult: “Hello, Risa. Beautiful dress. It’s a shame they didn’t have it in your size.” Jackson has very few lines altogether but might as well be in a Honeysuckle Ham catalogue with her exaggerated facial expressions and swigs of champagne that have absolutely nothing in common with the rest of Sweet Deception.

When Risa finds Fin shot to death in their home later that night, viewers have a pretty good idea who did it. But the handsome lunkhead detective assigned to the case (Molloy, played by Rob Stewart) is predictably clueless and arrests the grieving widow. With Newcomb as her defense attorney she’s destined for the big house, and this stretch of the movie is particularly ponderous, with its gratingly off-kilter angles and edits meant to symbolize Risa’s world in tumult.

Orange isn’t the new black in Sweet Deception.

Naturally, Risa, a former cop, is more formidable than the schemer who set her up could have imagined. She escapes at the earliest opportunity (as the obligatory saxophone music swells on the soundtrack), a moment that provides perhaps the only truly original scene in this paint-by-number affairs when the captions briefly read “(Risa groaning) (chickens clucking).”

Before setting out to clear her name, she checks in with her paraplegic cosmetologist mother, Arianna (Joan Collins), to secure the perfect wig to wear while on the lam. Arianna, who had already been paid a visit by Molloy, doesn’t pass up the opportunity to gossip about the detective. “Well, he’s certainly good looking,” she tells her daughter. Risa replies, “Nice too. Arrested me, interrogated me, was a witness against me, can’t wait to me back behind bars.” To which Arianna breezily (and confusingly) declares “Well, that’s life!”

“Love that chicken from Popeyes!”

By now, Sweet Deception isn’t pretending to be anything but an absolute shitshow. Risa runs through a lame series of disguises, even breaking into a costume store to steal a police uniform. Scalia’s all over the place with his accent (when he remembers he’s supposed to have one). Financial irregularities are duly uncovered at Gallagher & Newcomb after one of Fin’s mistresses, an employee, is found dead in a hotel room.

My personal favorite “What the hell?!” moment felt like something out of Mystery Science Theater 3000. As Molloy’s wiring Risa for a dangerous meeting with the person who framed her, he says “Let me turn you on.” And right as you’re laughing and preparing to make up your own stupid dialogue, Risa actually replies, quite robotically, “Anytime.” Robotic is Pacula’s default mode and she’s offered little help by the screenplay (credited to Joelle Harris) or Timothy Bond’s direction. You suspect she might’ve fled the set by hiding on a chicken truck if given the chance.

And now, Jack Scalia doing his best impression of Blanche Devereaux’s father, Big Daddy.

Streaming and DVD availability

Sweet Deception hasn’t made it to DVD, but you can currently stream it on Amazon Prime or Tubi.

Disclosure: As an Amazon Associate I earn a small commission from qualifying purchases.

… But wait, there’s more!

Because you’ve earned it, here’s one last ridiculous Jackson screencap for the road.