In 1989, the idea that computers would be publicly networked into a vast library of information from which any information on any subject can be found was over the horizon. Films like Sex, Lies, And Videotape were therefore considered shocking, even perverted. Today, in this age where one can read stories on subject matters discussed by the characters in this film (or even that which the film is based around) with the click of a button, the premise is utterly passé. That it could have attracted so much attention in the US market in 1989 reveals how America's citizenry was more tightly repressed than Ann. The cast is minuscule by most standards, and there really are only four stars to speak of. The fact that half of them are about as charismatic as a puddle does not help. That I remember Earl T. Taylor's performance more clearly than James Spader's or Andie MacDowell's is not the best of signs. I am starting to believe that Jennifer Jason Leigh is glad she missed the opportunity to appear here.

I can handle films that consist of long conversations between several pairs of characters, and I can even handle films that consist of interview footage. What I cannot handle is a film partially comprised of interview footage that is so predictable and monotonous that one can guess what the character is going to say before the question is asked. It is not until about sixty-odd minutes into the film when Ann finds the evidence of Graham's affair with Cynthia that she has been challenged to produce that any spark of interest in the story is generated. By then, it is too late because most of the characters concerned are less than uncompelling. It is not the fault of the actors, as they seem perfectly competent. It is just that the characters they inhabit, the story they are telling, and the film's framing of both, have little to recommend them.

The music by Cliff Martinez attempts to inject some sliver of tension into the proceedings, but it instead succeeds in being annoying. If it could be more stilted or obvious, I do not know how. Clearly, the hearts of the composer and director were in the right place, but the result is about as interesting as a wet sock. If the film is trying to make the point that conversation is more satisfying than sex, then it has missed the mark. The conversations are flat and pointless, and the characters are as deep as a compact disc. I have never enjoyed a performance by Andie MacDowell, Groundhog Day notwithstanding. Even in Hudson Hawk, she manages to suck all the life and fun out of her character. Peter Gallagher is about as likable as a stomach ulcer, and James Spader's charisma vortex was pretty much confirmed thirteen years later in Secretary.

If the film does have a saving grace, it is the serpent-like performance from Laura San Giacomo. Her biography on the IMDb begins with "Fans and critics love Laura, she always gives a great performance", and this art-house production is no exception. She is beautiful enough to hook the men in the audience, unlike the woman playing her on-screen sister, and her performance is based around the knowledge of this fact. In every scene she plays, she steals the show. The fact that she cares enough about other people in her offscreen life, at least if the stories about her campaigning for "inclusive educational opportunities for all children" are to be believed, gives every character she portrays, including this one, a certain soul that those who occupy Sex, Lies, And Videotape with her lack. In essence, she is the heart of this film. No, let me rephrase that, she is the heart, brains, lungs, and many other things of a story whose cast of characters seem so utterly lacking it makes the attempts at pop psychology seem like they would be laughable if they were not so utterly sad.

Out of ten, I gave Sex, Lies, And Videotape a five. Those five points are for Laura San Giacomo alone. Having seen this film twice on occasions about five to ten years apart, I can honestly say I never saw what all the fuss was about. Judging from the fact that the film was pretty much tossed onto DVD like a piece of trash onto a garbage heap, I am guessing that the film-making community has similar feelings.