Deception Marcel Langenagger

Deception Marcel Langenagger
The sex thriller is an essentially hypocritical genre: first it hooks you with the promise of sex only to throw the cold water and bring down the hammer of shame. Despite its surface veneer of professionalism, Deception proves no different, or less generic, than any other example of its kind. Ewen MacGregor plays a shy auditor who’s befriended by slick professional Hugh Jackman. The pro introduces his nerdy charge to a private sex club where the gob-smacked novice meets and falls in love with the mysterious Michelle Williams. But Jackman’s a crook, Ewen’s the patsy and bucking hetero monogamy will only get you in trouble. The film works overtime to be posh and luxuriant but it’s so coldly formal that it never gets around to being sexy — the settings are too hard and unpleasant to suggest warmth and the women are mostly lacquered mannequins with knowing smiles familiar from a thousand of these things. (It goes without saying there are no boy sex objects.) So un-arousing is the come-on that it comes as no surprise when it’s revealed that you shouldn’t act so alienated and you’ll only be punished when you do. Like, get a girlfriend, you loser. Williams is once again the best thing in a bad movie, lending sensitivity and nuance to a character that’s barely written; MacGregor only looks ridiculous and Jackman is hamstrung by the limits of his role and its "charisma.” This is your last resort only when every copy of Red Shoe Diaries is rented, assuming your erotic tastes run to the tame and cheesy. Extras include a director’s commentary that’s predictably high on technical info and low on insight, a "making of” that lets the director hang himself with his shallowness, a featurette on sex clubs that’s quite funny when contrasted with the feature and three deleted scenes. (Fox)