The final twist could
and should have been far more provocative - expected as that might have been in
the abysmal area between "Disclaimer" and "The Housemaid".
But the objection probably goes to the author, not the filmmaker.
The latter, aided by
three splendid leads, a perfect traditional Bertelmann soundtrack (not music,
by any means) and a motor running in the country of De Palma-esque mountains
and Lyne-esque valleys (both utterly beloved, of course), managed to deliver a
thoroughly enjoyable movie ride that almost defiantly goes to visit places all
about male inadequacy, female celebrity and narrative complexity (and
complicity), only to effortlessly change gear to Gran Turismo and stick around
the recognizable territory of the best seller version of female class fantasy
and safe upper class demolition.
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