Novelist/actress/screenwriter Fisher offers a sequel to Postcards From the Edge (1987), with many of the same elements: another head-trip with a lost Hollywood soul—and drugs, drugs, drugs.
Since we last saw her, Suzanne Vale had married and had a child. Studio exec Leland was sweet, caring and great in bed; still, he left her three years ago . . . for a guy. So darling daughter Honey, now six, has become Suzanne’s focus, except when Suzanne is gigging as a cable talk-show hostess or sending little Honey off to Leland. But why must Leland have a much better TV, and regular folks for parents, in contrast to her own flaky showbiz mom? And how has she managed so long without sex? The drought ends with a successful play for Dean Bradbury (“Hollywood’s original bad boy”) at a producer’s funeral. The pair’s one-night stand is followed by a longer run with Thor, a towering blond who brings out the slut in Suzanne, which also means giving up the meds she needs for her bipolar whatever, which is when all hell breaks loose. Suzanne destroys her patio in the middle of the night, has her hair cut off, gets a tattoo, and drives to Tijuana with the tattoo artist. Okay, he’s an ex-con, but he’s loaded with OxyContins. Meanwhile, never a thought for Honey. Rescued by best friend Craig, Suzanne messes up her new meds and winds up in the nuthouse, not such a great change from the world outside: people continue to loom up out of the drug-spangled mists, and Suzanne’s just-kidding wordplay never stops, though receiving a secret message from an old movie on TV is a new low point. Eventually, Suzanne will be released into a happy ending: a kinda sorta reunion with Leland.
The satirical swipes at Tinseltown are missing here, apart from that funeral scene. The rest is all Suzanne, and she’s just not interesting enough to sustain the attention.