In 1991, Halle Berry made a brave move by making her film debut in the role of Samuel L. Jackson's crack-addicted girlfriend in Jungle Fever, a performance that hid her prom-queen glamour under layers of dirt. Any credibility that decision granted her has now been officially nullified by The Rich Man's Wife, a high-performance version of any given movie-of-the-week that relies on women in danger to maintain audience interest. Berry plays the title character, who must exonerate herself from the murder of her husband while being stalked by the real killer, a total freaking lunatic. Without the numerous, seemingly endless scenes of Berry looking petrified, The Rich Man's Wife would last about 20 minutes. This is trash, and the clearly tacked-on attempt at a Usual Suspects-style twist ending only makes it insulting trash.