Opens August 4, 2000

A chicks-mix flick with just the right tricks, Coyote Ugly, which centers on a raunchy New York bar of the same name (or in the spirit of the film, the "titular" name), is a straight-up, old-style serving of the girl-goes-to-make-it-in-the-big-city story. It's the happy yarn of a "Joisey girl" who leaves the nest in South Amboy and ventures forty-two miles into New York, New York with cassettes of her compositions crammed into her tight little carrying case.

One part Flashdance, with dashes of Saturday Night Fever, Cocktail and, yo, even Rocky jiggered into the mix, and topped off with a big Disney-esque corporate umbrella of exuberant, primary-colored youthful energy, this Touchstone tease should stir the desires of teen audiences and young twenties, in particular, appealing to the wet urges of those who don't have the proper fake I.D. to get into a real bar.

It's unlikely that many of Coyote's target audience may have seen an "old" Tom Cruise movie, Cocktail, where the Smiling One tends bar and dispenses buckets of frothy elixirs to a largely female clientele, especially impressed by his bottle-twirling, glass-juggling, wrist-flipping, butt-twitching skills. This is the latter-day flip side to that smart concoction: This time out, the bar is jammed with guys who seemed to have been bussed in straight from an all-week frat party, lured by the beautiful and not-so-tender bartenders.

Yet, this Jerry Bruckheimer-produced concoction is no mere kiddy Cocktail. It's stir stick swirls around Violet, a pretty blue-collar girl who lives with her working-man father in a common Jersey row house and watches all her friends get married and snuggle/escape into their small-world life. Like her mother, who died five years previously, Violet has a gift for song writing, but, like her mom, she's a shrinking Violet on stage. Against the wishes of her teddy-bear gruff Pop (John Goodman) and the kind-natured cynicism of her small-town peers, she heads off to the Big Apple, barely an hour away on the bus but light years away in attitude and style.

Like a bartender mixing an Old Fashioned, screenwriters Gina Wendkos and Jeff Nathanson layer the story glass with a bottom-coat of sugar, a dash of bitters, a hefty shot of the strong stuff, topped off with a palatable splash of sparkling fizz. It's a can't miss, weekend-night formula: Beginning with the sweet-layered bottom, we have sweetheart Violet arriving in the colorful city with girlish go and big dreams; then the bitters come in as her apartment is robbed and her dough runs out; next, the alcohol kicks in as she finds out that recording companies and agencies won't even consider her compositions because of legal reasons, and then the frothy garnishments as a cute guy (with an accent, no less) takes notice of her.

Will Violet get trapped into settling for the quick cash at the Coyote; will she shrink on stage or overcome her performance anxiety; will a producer ever discover her; will the guy turn out to be as sweet as he seems; will Papa finally accept her career choice? Is this a trick question?

Fortunately, most everything goes down smooth in this tangy brew, mainly because the central character, Violet, is so kind-hearted, spunky, and alluring. As Violet, Piper Perabo is a perfect mix of guttiness and glamour. You root for her to make it. Similarly, the other characters are also appealing, especially Adam Garcia as her cherubic, neo-Robby Benson-ish boyfriend, and John Goodman as her Papa-Bear father.

And, the "Coyotes" are the right mix of snarl, sass and sexiness, although aficionados, who anticipate that this might be Tyra Banks' breakthrough performance and garner her a Best Supporting Actress nomination, will be disappointed to find that her screen time is skimpier than her Victoria's Secret lingerie. Still, Tyra's a tremendous asset to the film, and her acting ability particularly comes through in her scenes with the brown leather pants. The other Coyotes fill their eye-candy dimension with appropriate allure, and are well cast in the sense they don't overshadow Violet's front-and-center position. A minor quibble, Maria Bello, as the Coyote's den mother, comes across as a faux Miss Kitty, a bit too candy-cute for her role as snarling owner/house mother of the joint.

Under David McNally's direction, the look is just right for this splashy cinematic. Big, bad New York is swathed in a happy-noir light, its daunting dimension colored in optimistic hues, giving this Uglya pretty glow. Unfortunately, fashion-conscious male viewers will likely be disappointed by the Coyotes' surprisingly conservative, even for PG-13, outfits: Did the planners of the Republican National Convention have a hand in the costume design? On the prettier, plus side, the musical score adds apt flavorings, a smart blend of kicky gusto and dewy schmaltz, just right for this northern comfort sort of story.