Vacuous twaddle.

Rating: 1/10 (8 January 2005)

This movie completely fails to convince that any of its characters are living, breathing, complex people with any kind of life beyond the immediate frame. Even within the frame they appear to be entirely two dimensional. They move about and talk about sex -- that's about it.
No fault of the cast, who all do sterling work with the most threadbare of scripts and with Mike Nichols at the helm, it's little wonder that they were attracted to the project.
Apart from the incidental pleasure (for this resident, at least) of seeing London depicted in the background, plus one or two smart-aleck exchanges of dialogue, one wonders what Nichols himself saw in it? Nothing here approaching the earlier wit of Who's Afraid of Virgina Woolf?, The Graduate or Carnal Knowledge, each exploring similar territory, not to mention Catch 22, Hearburn or Primary Colors. Well, everyone is entitled to an off-day.
The action leaps ahead by months or years -- or maybe it just feels that way -- when suddenly the recollection of a long-past infidelity rents asunder a relationship based solely on sex, or so it seems. Fair enough but what on earth did they find to talk about in the meantime? Utterly unbelievable.