text: The plot of 'House of Games' is the strongest thing about it: a successful author and psychologist is conned by a gang of grifters, but in discovering the wicked part of herself that enjoys the thrill of what they do, she finally gets her revenge. That's about the pitch: but someone has to take responsibility for it coming across as being acted by puppets. It has to be the director Mamet: Lindsay Crouse has had a varied and pretty steady TV and film career, so she can't perform this badly all the time. She's supposed to go from uptight, cool, controlled professional to calculating, wicked fast lady having fun, as shown by the change from beige trouser suit (which she seems to wear for three days straight, including underwear) to floppy floral sundress. But everyone seems to be speaking their lines the same clipped, precise way; I imagine Mamet wanting to make sure not a syllable of his scintillating script got missed. The effect is unsettling and spoils the atmosphere of mystery and suspense he is presumably trying to create. At times 'House of Games' loses any connection to how human beings actually behave or talk, and becomes just a mechanism to spin out the plot. The clunky vibes'n'oboe faux-jazz soundtrack doesn't help either. The ultimate result is that the only entertainment to be had is in guessing the outcome, and the sooner you do that the sooner you will get bored with the robotic, two-dimensional performances. And they smoke too much!!!