Most of us can go an entire lifetime without once being asked if we could pretend to be someone else for an extended period of time. Sadly, famous people don't have this luxury, and eventually, they are going to have to account for whether or not they can act. Such is the contradictory burden of fame: If you're famous enough, eventually people want to see you act like a completely different person.

By the end of the 1980s, Whitney Houston had achieved more than any woman, ever. As a singer, she had indeed sung several songs. Her albums had sold a billion copies, if one is counting in billions and rounding up. Her videos were so popular that MTV had taken to playing them continuously, even during commercials. Inevitably, people began to wonder if Ms. Houston could pretend to be other people, if only to allow them some temporary relief from the near-constant presence of the actual Whitney.

Finally, with the release of THE BODYGUARD in 1992, the answer came that, yes, Ms. Houston could indeed pretend to be other people. Never mind that the "other person" in this case is a successful pop star with acting aspirations, this pop star's name is "Rachel," not "Whitney." Thankfully, producers helpfully made Rachel a good actress, ensuring that there was no way audiences would ever confuse her with the real Whitney.

Houston's costar Kevin Costner, as the "bodyguard" of the title, took his cue from his co-star's "acting," and had writer Lawrence Kasdan completely remove his character's personality from the script. That character, Frank Farmer, rarely says more than two words, and even less rarely uses more than one tone of voice. The result is a performance that dares to mix the intense enthusiasm of Mr. Spock with the Movie Phone guy's raw animal sexuality.

As the film begins, we learn that an overzealous fan has broken into Rachel's lavish home and made passionate love to her sheets. Upon discovering that a complete stranger has been following Rachel everywhere and watching everything she does, her handlers elect to have another complete stranger follow her everywhere and watch everything she does. But Frank Farmer is no ordinary complete stranger: Following a stint with the Secret Service (presumably as a paperweight), Frank has moved to the private sector and become a "legendary bodyguard." A legend to whom, we never exactly find out, but how good a job can the guy really be doing in the Secret Service if everyone knows who he is?

Rachel and Frank waste no time in discovering shared interests, namely a shared dislike of one another, and she relishes every opportunity to do the exact opposite of what he tells her to. Their relationship is less a love affair and more "emotionally distant stepfather watches a two year old." Things change after an audience at one of Rachel's performances pulls her from the stage and nearly rips her apart, a natural reaction to Whitney Houston music, certainly. Audiences at upper-class discos are always just moments from a cannibalistic riot anyway, so adding Ms. Houston's music to the mix is like poking a sleeping tiger with an infant covered in Worcestershire sauce.

Frank, showing off some of those skills that made him so legendary in the elite bodyguarding field, gives the crowd a moment to have their fun, and then saves his client with a convenient fire extinguisher. All part of Frank's plan, apparently, because not hours later, Rachel is madly in love and insists that he take her on a date. If this is his standard approach to guarding his clients, it's not hard to see why he had to stop guarding the president. It does, however, explain how he got so legendary...

A few more attempts on her life later (which is could easily be a measurement of time where they are), it is revealed that Rachel has been nominated for an Oscar, demonstrating once and for all that this character can only be, at best, partially based on Ms. Houston. Or the Academy has added an award for Irony. Either way, Frank is convinced that the assassin is going to make an attempt on her life there, and I have to say, it's about time. The stupidest plan ever, sure, but he is the legendary guarder-of-other-people, so who am I to argue? I've never once guarded the life of a sitting president, or made love to an Oscar-nominated actress, only to ditch her the next day like old ham. (Golden Globe-winning, sure, but who hasn't?)

Turns out, Frank's renowned instincts are dead on. But does this guy try to kill her on the red carpet while Rachel tries to explain to Mary Hart how exactly she, of all people, managed to get nominated, using a complex series of charts and graphs? No, of course not. He does it during the ceremony, in a tightly guarded pavillion, in front of billions of people and dozens of cameras. Honestly, I'm surprised no one else has tried this at the Oscars for real. It's foolproof!

Anyway, Frank gets shot, Rachel will always love him, oooh oooh, boy. The end. I'd explain in more depth, but I have next year's Oscar ceremony to prepare for. You hear me, Cuba Gooding, Jr.? I'm coming, bitch!

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