Review: Chloe

Chloe opens with a breathy voiceover, red nail varnish, a healthy amount of side-boob and the rolling down of suspenders in an indistinct, soft-focus boudoir. Boom: suddenly I'm a newly pubescent teenager and furtively renting Bruce Willis erotic embarrassment Color Of Night. A film that, even at that tender age of 14 (I developed late), I knew was crap. All I wanted was some porny thrills, not the shattering realisation that it was possible NOT to enjoy a film. This revelation was up right up there with finding out there's no Santa. (Thanks a lot Gremlins... Again, I developed late.)