Orgies in movies are usually not grubby suburban affairs involving bogan swingers but are instead more often hypnotic masquerades held in castles with everyone sashaying about in slow-mo wearing masks - Venetian and sequinned, not gimp - and resplendent in tuxedoes and ballgowns, not chaps, and the party always proves so tedious that by movie's end, sex and death, pleasure and pain must become synonymous; of course, our heroine here ends up running, but might she just be afraid of experiencing the vice-like grip (around her neck) of simply too much pleasure, yawn?
★★☆☆☆
CINECAL: ONE SENTENCE REVIEWS
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