Fortunately, when America's love affair with Eric Schaeffer finally kicks in, there will be a fat back-catalog of little-seen Eric Schaeffer projects ready to be discovered. After a movie (My Life's In Turnaround) and a TV series (Too Something) with collaborator Donal Lardner Ward, Schaeffer made his solo debut with 1996's If Lucy Fell. That film found Schaeffer improbably forced to choose between the love of Sarah Jessica Parker and the love of Elle Macpherson. Then there's this fucking movie. Fall, which proves writer/director/star Schaeffer to be a triple threat in the purest sense of the term. Schaeffer plays a cab driver who falls in love with supermodel Amanda De Cadenet after she takes a short ride in his cab. Before long, she learns to appreciate his charms, and, despite being trapped in a sexless sham of a marriage, she throws herself into a tempestuous affair involving take-out Chinese food and strap-on dildos. Fall begins terribly, then proceeds to explore new depths with each scene. For example, as if the segment in which Schaeffer's friend (Francie Swift) engages in a bizarre performance-art piece in order to be ordained as an Episcopalian minister weren't bad enough, Schaeffer follows it with an embarrassing scene in which De Cadenet unconvincingly attempts to interpret what she's seen. Immediately following this is a bit in which Schaeffer's friends praise De Cadenet's piercing intelligence. But moments in which praise is directed at any character other than Schaeffer's are rare. In addition to a couple of shots of the auteur in all his full-frontal glory, Fall takes the time to celebrate his intelligence, his wit, his ability to perform in the sack (repeatedly and at length), and, worst of all, his writing. Like sour frosting on a strychnine-laced cake, Fall features some of the purplest prose and poetry ever to appear in a movie, most of it spouted by Schaeffer's character in a breathless voiceover. While it seems to aspire to be a sort of updated Last Tango In Paris, Fall comes off as nothing more than an extended valentine to its creator. It ought to remain unseen by everyone else.