By Sandra Hall
February 22, 2006

Adapted from James Siegel's thriller, it's not bad but full of flaws.

I'm ready for bed now, matron. 

I'm ready for bed now, matron. 

Run Time
110 minutes
MA 15+
United States
Mikael Hafstrom
Clive Owen, Jennifer Aniston, Vincent Cassel, Melissa George, RZA

It all begins with Jennifer Aniston's legs. Lissom in sheer black tights, they attract the attention of Clive Owen as he's travelling to work on a train.

He and Aniston get into conversation, then they meet again the next morning, get drunk together that night and wind up in a seedy hotel room, deciding to have sex.

So begins Aniston's bid to overhaul her image as poor Ms Nice, the girl Brad left for Angelina, and become a femme fatale.

I suppose you could call it a significant career choice. But it does smack of desperation, for Derailed is not really about sex. It's a macho affair between Owen and hawk-faced Vincent Cassel as a thug who breaks in on the lovers, raping her and beating and robbing him. And that's just his idea of foreplay. The thug then takes to haunting Owen's Charles Schine, a well-paid advertising executive, with blackmail demands and threats to harm his wife and young daughter.

The screenplay - by the Australian writer Stuart Beattie ( Collateral) - is adapted from James Siegel's thriller, which became a bestseller on the strength of a sinuous plot, which does all but turn cartwheels in its efforts to spring a surprise every few chapters. And the director, Sweden's Mikael Hafstrom, has managed to entice some interesting and unlikely names to be part of it all.

Australia's Melissa George plays Schine's unsuspecting wife. Another Australian, Rachael Blake, is glimpsed in an even less rewarding role as a testy client of his ad agency; and a portly Tom Conti is his self-satisfied boss.

I can't explain the part briefly played by the talented British actor David Morrissey for fear of telegraphing one of the story's many climaxes. But his few lines centre on his profound desire to get up and go - a sentiment which, by then, is easy to empathise with.

It's not an entirely bad film. Shot in Chicago, it's infused with the rush, bustle and potential hazardousness of life in a big city. But its storyline is full of logical flaws. And although Beattie makes a valiant attempt to plug them, he's no sooner dealt with one before another half-dozen open up. It's also hard to keep barracking for a film's hero when at the same time you're silently begging him to stop and think. After all, there's no greater test of loyalty than stupidity.

Nonetheless, Owen doesn't look stupid. In fact, he looks anything but, which is always alluring. And Cassel is invariably worth watching, mainly because he's so good at alternating urbanity with insanity. It's as if Jean-Paul Belmondo had evolved to a higher form and was living on a diet of speed and steroids.

In contrast, Aniston seems drained of energy, as if she were already regretting her decision to take on the role. In the supposedly steamy sex scene, even when removing some of her clothes, she remains corseted within several layers of brisk detachment. Unfastening Owen's belt, she might be Matron about to inspect a dressing.

Maybe her sense of humour was getting in the way. I like to think so. She has a gift for deadpan. More than that. It's her only talent. And in comedy, it works. Which is why she should leave sex alone and get back to laughter as soon as possible.
