I can't remember the last time that a movie squandered as much goodwill in such a short space of time as this one does. The first half is genuinely terrific, as six lairy, sexed-up twenty-somethings flirt, take drugs and confabulate on a yacht anchored off the coast of an unnamed Spanish island. Its like Hollyoaks as directed by Larry Clark, and it is totally gripping.
But as soon as the titular incident occurs (and the titular incident really does occur; just in case anyone else suspected that the title was merely a jocular come-on) the plot suddenly helter skelters straight into a brick wall; turning into the kind of dated, tiresome trash that isn't only shockingly predictable, but also entirely unaware of its own predictability. The film's twists are broadly apparent a full ten minutes before they occur on screen, which makes for an experience that isn't only boring, but also deeply and repeatedly annoying.
This is one of those thrillers in which every cast member gets a turn playing the volatile psychopath, purely because the script can't get around the fact that the previous character to go loopy has just been safely locked in a cupboard.
It never once stops being faultlessly directed - debutant Oliver Blackburn coaxes some really outstanding performances from his young cast, and there are a couple of devilish moments of genuine suspense and black comedy - but these jiffys are like a tiny number of slowly deflating rubber dinghies sinking into a gigantic ocean of generic pish.
People merely looking for explicit sex will be very well served, but the violence and gore is surprisingly tame for something that's being marketed as a plasma-stained killfest.
A very brief, but nevertheless apt and effective homage to Phillip Noyce's Dead Calm aside (a film so infinitely superior that I feel guilty for even having mentioned it here) this is just a shoddy, witless bore of a film.
And it all started so well.
