It's a shame that the idea of bumping off the guests staying at an incompetent motel came just a little late for Crossroads.

So without the benefit of grisly ends for David Hunter and Noele Gordon, we'll have to make do with this psychological gorefest.

Mangold brazenly plucks every house of horror cliché from the trash can but imbues it with nerve and verve to fashion a satisfying yarn.

Owing a major debt to Ten Little Indians, a group of strangers come together for the night after getting stranded during a fierce thunderstorm at a remote motel.

There's limo chauffeur Cusack driving a faded actress DeMornay, who's yet to come to terms with her descending star.

Cop Ray Liotta is escorting a deranged killer (Jake Busey) while hooker Amanda Peet is heading for a new life in Florida growing oranges.

Throw in a couple of newly-weds, a family in crisis and a nervous manager and you have the line-up for a night of mayhem as they work out what brought them together.

Mangold directs at breakneck speed against a backdrop of lashing rain, lighting bolts and thunderstorm claps constantly assailing the senses.

However, there's generous dollops of black humour to lift the mood as the killer sets about his work with a frighteningly large knife.

"I wish I had beige," says manager John Hawkes as he looks disappointedly at Cusack's choice of thread colour while he stitches up a gaping wound in one victim's neck.

The cast manages the tightrope walk of keeping disbelief suspended and straightfacedly playing their roles without a hint of doubt.

Mangold manages to keep the formulaic edifice from crumbling and there's a nice psychological subplot to muddy the waters.

However, despite various inventive despatches - hunting knife, baseball bat and hit'n'run - perhaps the scariest thing is Peet's uncanny resemblance to Carol Smillie.

Tim Evans