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‘Strictly Confidential’ Review: Makeout Scenes and Flimsy Melodrama on a Caribbean Isle
Elizabeth Hurley’s son Damian wrote and directed this occasionally amusing thriller, which often seems more a tourism lure for St. Kitts and Nevis.
“Some secrets are meant to stay buried” says the ad line for “ Strictly Confidential.” But you’d need a sizable underground bunker to contain all the effortfully shocking revelations sprung in this very silly sudser, which starts out looking like an erotic thriller-mystery, then descends into a series of flashback-laden explication monologues more apt for “Dynasty” than Agatha Christie. Damian Hurley ’s directorial feature, with famous mum Elizabeth top-billed and producing, provides several hardbodied younger performers opportunity to model clothes and approximate recognizable human emotions on the coastline of tax haven island nation Saint Kitts and Nevis. A note of fashion/travel advertisement is struck immediately with images of bikinied thespians floating in clear blue waters, writhing in the arms of muscular shirtless men, and so forth — an opening montage not elevated when it turns out to be dreamt by someone bathing in the requisite luxury bathtub surrounded by (doubtless scented) candles.
Or read this on Variety