Poor Ellen Barkin: this irredeemably potty farrago looks like a Brigitte Bardot rejaect from 30 years before. And it's filled with people of striking talent who have often proved bad choosers of scripts; all of them are adrift here in a ludicrous screenplay that provides quotable bad lines by the pageful. Barkin plays a skydiver who, fearful of her latest stunt and hungry for former lover Byrne, flees hubby Sheen and flies to Spain, where she throws herself at her ex-paramour. 'Do you remember,' she gasps, 'at the circus, when we crept into the cage and made love with lions still inside? ' Byrne remembers: 'We didn't even know they were there'. Sands is so awful that he deserves such lines as: 'To me, the only falling that doesn`t mean failing is falling in love'. At least Foster contributes a grand English aristocratic accent and isn't quite as wasted as the rest. The plot structure has a potentially intriguing puzzle framework, but the dialogue and treatment by the director sink it without trace. Not a dull, though; just a disaster.

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