Ana de Armas and Ben Affleck in Deep Water
(Picture: Courtesy of 20th Century Studio)Warning: this film contains cruelty to himbos.
Adrian Lyne, the Brit responsible for 9½ Weeks and Fatal Attraction, hasn’t directed anything for twenty years. His comeback is a quote unquote steamy neo-noir, about a jealous guy who’s fit to kill his wife’s puppy-cute lovers. Starring Ben Affleck, it’s based on a Patricia Highsmith novel that’s adored by Gone Girl writer, Gillian Flynn. Throw in an on-form Ana de Armas (who, for a while, dated Affleck) and surely you can’t go wrong? Deep sigh. Oh, yes you can.
The actors really aren’t to blame - not even Affleck. The latter is always at his best when playing shallow malcontents and is entirely convincing as Vic Van Allen, a snail-stroking psychopath.
Vic and his much-younger wife, Melinda (de Armas), live in a leafy part of New Orleans, with their brainiac moppet, Trixie (Grace Jenkins; wonderfully insouciant). Melinda, clearly sick of this cosy set-up, hangs out with pretty boys who she calls friends. One of these boys has gone missing. Vic, who has an odd sense of humour, says he killed him. When another of Melinda’s conquests drowns in a pool, Melinda, and a local writer, Lionel (Tracy Letts), insist Vic dunnit. But because Vic is so rich and genial, no one in town believes them.
Deep Water has satirical tendencies, yet the banal dialogue and clunky/confusing plot means we laugh at it, not with it. Melinda, for all de Armas’ passionate intensity, is a stereotype: the vivacious, slovenly, hot-blooded Latina, excited by rough stuff. She says things like, “America is so suffocating!” and, having goaded Vic into losing his temper, yells, “Finally! Some emotion!”
None of the adult characters talk like real people. Vic made his fortune via some kind of computer chip that controls drones. Upon hearing this, Lionel narrows his eyes and says, “Drone warfare. That’s a moral grey area.” You don’t say.
Meanwhile, Lyne drools over de Armas’ back, thighs and breasts, and her high-heeled shoes (like Zack Snyder, he can’t seem to get enough of women’s shoes). He also makes a big deal of moments where Vic has to peddle furiously through undergrowth on a mountain bike. When the sublime Letts gets involved in a high-speed chase (the film’s ending is different from the book’s), it’s as edifying as watching an Olympic swimmer do the front crawl in a puddle.
That said, a good chortle is not to be sneezed at. Erotic thrillers are meant to make men hard and women wet. Deep Water definitely has the power to make women wet themselves. Will that do?
