Where The Truth Lies - The Atlanta Journal-Constitution movie review

Ultimately, you won't care 'Where the Truth Lies'

By STEVE MURRAY
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution

"Where the Truth Lies" is a film noir that twists its way through a series of plot reversals to solve a mystery that, in the end, it's hard to give a hoot about. It's less a whodunnit than a whocares.

Consider it a clunking disappointment from Atom Egoyan, the smart Canadian director whose works have ranged from the fascinating ("Exotica") to the brilliant ("The Sweet Hereafter"). That film was based on the novel by Russell Banks. "Truth" comes from a book by, um, Rupert Holmes — yep, the guy who wrote "Escape (The Pina Colada Song)."

ThinkFilm

'Where The Truth Lies'

C-

The verdict: A tangled film noir that isn't worth unraveling.

Director: Atom Egoyan
Starring: Kevin Bacon, Colin Firth, Alison Lohman, Rachel Blanchard, David Hayman
Run time: 106 minutes
Release date: Oct. 14, 2005
Rating: Not rated; NC-17 rating declined. Includes sexual situations, nudity, language, violence, drug use.
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The story is promising, if convoluted. Set in two timeframes (the late 1950s and early '70s), the movie circles around the unsolved death of a Miami hotel employee named Maureen (Rachel Blanchard), who's found drowned in the bathtub — but in another hotel, in New Jersey, in a suite set aside for '50s comedy stars Vince Collins (Colin Firth) and Lanny Morris (Kevin Bacon).

They've just arrived there from their 36-hour telethon in Miami to raise money to fight polio. And if "telethon" piques your suspicions, get this: In their act, Vince is a suave, unflappable crooner, while Lanny is the class clown, running all over the place like a sugar-addled kid. Any resemblance to Martin and Lewis is strictly, ahem, unintentional.

Fifteen years later, long after discovery of the waterlogged blonde ended their act, another blonde, magazine reporter Karen O'Connor (Alison Lohman), lands a deal to interview Vince and get the real story about that scandal. And, as luck (or a poorly plotted coincidence) would have it, on a flight to New York, Karen finds herself seated near Lanny. He may be older, but he's still the same hounddog he was in his heyday of female fandom, lots of liquor, and unlimited pharmaceuticals.

Karen manages to get intimately involved with both Lanny and Vince, violating journalistic ethics in ways that would make even Jayson Blair quail.

You following all this? It gets a lot more complicated, but has the odd effect of getting less interesting as it does.

Meanwhile, the soundtrack is hyper-chatty with endless voiceovers from both Karen and Lanny. The movie is aiming for a he-said/she-said "Roshomon"-style approach to the truth. But it's distracting overkill. When Karen isn't narrating the story, we get Lanny offering chunks of exposition from the autobiography he's writing. With so much of the plot being told to us, it's like listening to a book-on-tape while watching amusing '70s costumes and decor.

Firth is fine as the dapper Vince, a transplanted Mr. Darcy in self-imposed exile in a glass box of a home in the Hollywood Hills. Bacon is even better in a role that lets him, in his act with Vince, cut up like he's never been allowed to before; and he's smoothly sinister as the older, bitter Lanny. Blanchard, in a small role, combines dewy-eyed innocence with an ashy underlay of tough experience.

Then there's Lohman who, well, all but wrecks the moments that do work in "Truth." She's been excellent in "White Oleander," "Matchstick Men" and the TV series "Pasadena." But her strength is in, so to speak, vulnerability. Often looking like she's still in her teens, she's miscast as a hard-edged reporter who shamelessly (and implausibly) crosses ethical lines.

Mychael Dann's moody score and the extreme seriousness of tone suggests that everyone involved felt there was a lot more going on beneath the surface than there is. Noir material is a delicate thing to handle. Think of how, in lesser hands than Roman Polanski's, the "my sister/my daughter" reveal in "Chinatown" could've careened into satire. When we learn the big secret in "Truth," your reaction may be a tossup between a yawn and a giggle.

Oh, and if you go for the highly touted menage a trois scene that was rumored to earn the film a dreaded NC-17, don't get your heavy breathing started. You've seen sexier. And that's the truth.