When the powers-that-be fuck her over on her exposé of an intern-fucking U.S. senator, star newspaper reporter Halle Berry says “Fuck you” to the world of print journalism—until, that is, her old childhood friend washes up dead in the Hudson and Berry sets out to put the screws to the smarmy ad exec (Bruce Willis) who was fucking the dead woman behind his wife’s back. Berry goes undercover in Willis’ glass-and-steel office and soon starts giving the boss virtual cock teases under the IM handle “Rocketgirl.” Directed with palpable fatigue by James Foley (who once made good movies such as At Close Range), Perfect Stranger derives some novelty value from its color-blind casting and from being the most ludicrous Hollywood fuck-fest since the Willis-starring Color of Night (minus that movie’s comic self-awareness). In the end, so much damning evidence has been amassed against nearly all the main characters that the final revelation feels like the one that merely tested the best.