Max Ophuls' version of Schnitzler's La Ronde epitomised - for all time - world-weary Viennese decadence. The temptations of a remake are obvious. Sex is never off the menu; and what's more, given that the lovers don't stick around, subtleties of characterisation can be dispensed with. Wasting an intriguing cast, this Big Apple bonkfest drags us on yet another spin on the crotch-level merry-go-round. But when the most noteworthy elements are dire songs and shallow gestures to the spectre of AIDS, the ride's a dull one. Flaccid in every respect.