This movie has the same energy as excitedly going to grab some ice cream from the freezer but discovering that the only flavour left in the neopolitan container is strawberry. Or when you go to chow down on that perfect sandwich you made earlier and have been craving all day, only to take a bite and discover that the tomatoes, pickles, and sauces have made the bread all soggy. Or when you entrust the director of National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation to remake a revered French psychological thriller, adored by cinephiles for decades, inspiring the likes of Alfred Hitchcock's "Psycho"...

Oh wait a minute - that last one is what happened here.

Want to bungle Sharon Stone's titanic sex-symbol status in the prime of her carrer? This movie does! Want to hand five Oscar nominees a dogshit screenplay with nothing to work with? This movie does! Want to watch a teacher throw a kid into an e-coli infested swimming pool at school? Sure why not!

This movie was...so close. It had it all. The source material, the talent. But in the end, all we got were a few quippy one liners, a weird Catholic-sex thing, and Chazz Palminteri uncomfortably yelling at women in public.

I wanted to like it, but I also wanted to be hit in the head with a garden rake and thrown into a swimming pool.