Where The Truth Lies

This odd murder thriller jumps between the mob-dominated club scene of the '50s and the swinging possibilities of the '70s as a determined journalist (Lohman) attempts to investigate the suspicious death of a hotel maid (naked in bathtub, of course) and the subsequent break-up of Kevin Bacon and Colin Firth’s Martin And Lewis inspired comedy duo.
What can have happened in their suite that fateful night? And can the lobsters account for their whereabouts? These and other related questions are duly addressed in a chronologically haphazard manner. But hey, it’s the '70s, so we also get weird sexual triangulation and a trippy set-piece which might happily be called Alice’s Erotic Adventures In Wonderland, if someone hadn’t snapped up that title already.
Certainly, nobody sane would claim Where The Truth Lies was Atom Egoyan’s most cerebral offering. It’s a pot-boiler, plain and simple, replete with conspiracies and lesbian romps. Yet bolstered by three remarkably good central performances, it remains compelling throughout. Never underestimate the appeal of properly lurid trash.