It's ironic that each scene seems inspired by movies, rather than life, when the film purports to show wartime England as it was. This cine-literacy may not be writer David Yallop's fault, but the script is hackneyed too, despite the story's (factually-based) potential. In 1944, an American GI (Sutherland) and a local showgirl (Lloyd) met in a Hammersmith café; a week later they were arrested for murder. Nobody ever knew the reason for their crime spree, and Yallop, none too originally, attributes their deeds to a naive faith in movie myth born of economic and cultural deprivation. The film skims the surface of its themes, and it's all poorly executed. Lloyd, like a 12- rather than 18-year-old, offers further evidence of her shortcomings, and Sutherland has no real part to play. Worse still is the 'direction'. Scenes go on far too long; the symbolism is thumpingly obvious; lighting, sets and dodgy London topography all evoke a video-neverworld.