This strange kettle of catfish down in the Bayou is one of those films that makes it glaringly obvious that it started life as a play. It seems to be about young brides losing their inhibitions through a) imagined contact with a dead mother and b) positive contact with the town whore. 'I'm scared, daddy,' wails Emily Lloyd. 'I'm not woman enough to please my man,' pouts Jennifer Tilly. Both are better actresses than you could possibly guess from this very badly directed (by its writer) film that has an all-too-distinguished cast embarrassingly and stiltedly over-acting to the extent that it simply turns an audience off. The movie starts with a rambling rigmarole by Leland Crooke (who? ) as Lloyd's father, which seems to have no more point than lengthening the film by five minutes - and ominously sets the 'unreal' tone of things to come. You get the feeling that here and there the film is meant to be affecting and amusing, but it isn't either. Son of a gun, it's just no fun on this Bayou.


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