Tell Me No Lies Movie Review

From the cover of Maxim and bit parts in American Beauty, Private Parts, and L.A. Confidential (she played "cut-job" Susan Lefferts), Amber Smith heads direct to video with Tell Me No Lies, one of the cheesiest "erotic thrillers" ever to grace your VCR.

It all starts when a buxom blonde is seen playing with her own breasts for so long you think that's going to be the whole movie, and bang she's dead, and an intricate game of cat and mouse is underway as the girl's sister (Smith) comes to town to try and solve the crime.

Or not.

Well, the sister really does come to town at least, working as a DJ at a Santa Barbara radio station, but really she's here to have sex, and lots of it, sister be damned! It's everywhere and with everyone, and even with herself if no one's around. To build suspense, the hidden killer chants her name in the woods, leading to sex with the next person she sees. To build character, Alex's female roommate refuses to wear pants. (Naturally, they get it on, too.) Even after Alex's producer is killed, she hops in a hot tub to grope her own body. The cops even go after it.

Littered with wooden acting, flubbed lines, continuity problems, and budget constraints so severe it looks like only one take was used in every scene -- the camera swinging around from person to person as they speak -- Tell Me No Lies is total cheesecake in every sense of the word. Smith even pronounces the name of the band The Ataris as "the uh-tah-RISS."

Altogether it lands about one notch above or below a typical installment of Red Shoe Diaries, depending on your point of view.

Aka The Midnight Hour.