Honey Moccasin

Shelley Niro's Native American "comedy/thriller" (which is neither funny nor suspenseful) is described in the Woman Make Movies catalog as an "irreverent appropriation of familiar narrative strategies [that] serves as a provocative springboard for an investigation of authenticity, cultural identity, and the articulation of modern Native American experience in cinematic language and pop culture." What this means in plain English is an embarrassingly amateur production in which Tantoo Cardinal, as the titular nightclub owner-cum-sleuth heroine, discovers three-fourths of the way into the film what the audience has known since the first five minutes: namely, that a gay café owner with a chip on his shoulder and feathers spilling out of his pockets is stealing traditional dress and beads from people on the reservation. For less than $20 you can pick up Smoke Signals and find more "articulation of modern Native American experience in cinematic language and pop culture" in any two minute stretch than you'll discover in all (painfully long) 47 minutes of Honey Moccasin. Not recommended. Aud: C, P. (R. Pitman)