Ewan McGregor. Hugh Jackman. Michelle Williams from Dawson's Creek. The names roll off the tongue right? Then I mention that the film involves an anonymous sex club and it truly feels like something you might be interested in. Unfortunately it also involves a few silly and telegraphed blackmail angles, and stilted dialogue strong enough to kill a yak at 30 paces (or whatever the legal yak killing yardage is these days). So it ends up in a big goopy mess, as if you'd combined egg yolks with jello.

The first issue is the title. Deception. Ah yes, so that, plus the weird look in everyone's eyes, means I need to perk up and pay attention because ANYTHING COULD HAPPEN. Then guess what happens? Pretty much exactly what you'd expect. The art of the feint is a tough one, I grant you; films like Usual Suspects, Sixth Sense, and Memento all are must-see because they create a world that's both compelling and unpredictable. Deception is neither, except for the initial sex scenes involving Ewan McGregor (as auditor Jonathan McQuarry) and multiple attractive womyn just looking for a quick score. The story is that Hugh Jackman takes Ewan under his wing and introduces him to the joys of an anonymous sex club wherein your only knowledge of the person you meet (and end up in bed with) is that they called you looking to hook up. But who is this Hugh Jackman, and what are his motives? Something seems fishy, right? I'll leave it to the movie to tell you the rest -- I don't want to ruin this one for the half-million-or-so people who are going to wander into this one on accident.

It was nice to see Michelle Williams again. I hold a soft spot in my heart for Dawson's Creek because I always sort of wanted to be Pacey and date Joey Potter. Don't judge. However, Williams is completely wasted here, as she was clearly counseled to look like she was a deer just about to undergo hip replacement surgery. Pained, I'd call her. And wispy if I may. Bedraggled. You get the idea; she's so damsel-in-distress that she might as well have screamed at the top of her lungs, "Oh Rhett!" Gone With the Wind callback anyone? Yep, that's how we do it around the film.com head office (location: classified).

I'm sorry this review has gone completely off the rails but I didn't have it in me to hate the dozenth film in a row. You see, I come from a happy place of actually loving movies, and seeing what Feb/Mar/April hath wrought brings me no joy. I think I may have a seizure from anticipating Iron Man so much -- heck, I'd even pay a few Euros to see Sex and the City at this point.

One interesting thing to talk about here though. I really like Ewan McGregor; he seems like a normal, well-adjusted sort of guy. But at this point I'm forced to point out that his track record since Trainspotting is not ideal. There was the Star Wars fiasco. He made a terrible film with Naomi Watts called Stay. Cassandra's Dream was eminently forgettable. I liked a little film called Down With Love but you don't often run into folk who have seen it. My point is: when do we decide to hold the actor responsible for his choice of projects? Shouldn't Ewan have known that this was a bloated and pointless movie based upon the script alone? If you walked onto the set and everyone was wearing "bad idea" jeans, wouldn't you just call it good and take off? I'd like to think I would.

Come to think of it, that's a mystery that really deserves some attention -- far more than this half-baked little disaster. I can't recommend you see this unless you're terrifically bored. Save your money for May. Hollywood certainly did.

Grade: D+

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