Setting Hollywood-style romantic-thrillers in London starring the always dependable Michael Caine with a blazing firearm in one hand and hot babe on the other sounds groovy, but this lame duck whodunnit misfires from the start.
Whoops! I forgot to tell you my boyfriend was an undercover agent. Whoops! I forgot to tell you about these strange numbers he read to me over the phone before he died, etc. Featuring another spectacularly wooden performance from Young, Blue Ice - named after something big and unexpected landing in your life, like a chunk of "blue ice" off a plane's loo - is filled with a string of not terribly thrilling action sequences, an embarrassing villain spotted from the word go, and a tearful parting scene that Mulcahy should have been banned from directing.