Enjoy spending time with modern urban self-centred types with no soul? If "yes" this is the movie for you then!

Rating: 4/10 (26 March 2006)

A couple of urban self-centred professional male types play various games with one another and the female partners in their life.
Crap. I would have fitted this in to a sentence like "this film was crap" but I was in to too much of hurry to say the word. Indeed I want to call it "overblown crap", but the word overblown would have delayed the key word! Owen, Portman, Roberts and Law spout lines at each other like they each have their own gag writer speaking through an ear piece (clever dick line -- clever dick line back -- clever dick line -- clever dick line back. On and on it goes like a tape loop. Or when they tire of that fall back on that old standby of "I love you -- no you don't you hate me -- oh OK, I don't love you-- you liar you do love me!"
Am I supposed to be thrilled by explicit language (how many times do the female leads talk -- or shout-- about orgasms?) and to increase the thrill factor we have key scenes in lapdancing clubs. Just to prove the script wasn't written in 1972 -- which it could otherwise have been!
(If I ran a club I would be looking to recruit better than short, skinny, flat chested types such as Portman!)
Thankfully the women can't grow designer stubble (because I am sure they would) but they still spout sexual banalities as if they are males. Indeed this seems to follow that line in Transporting in which males and females are now "one big sex."
In the background London slips by like piece of revolving scenery, even though it is the real thing. Maybe the fact it is clearly very early in the morning makes the place look so different from the "no room to breath" place I occasionally visit.
The film reminds me of one those scenes in which friends from work drag along people that you don't like for an evening out and when they leave you say (to yourself) "good riddens to bad rubbish."