What Lies Beneath review  Stateside critics who've hated What
Lies Beneath have justified their scorn by pointing out its
painfully slow pace, obvious storyline and total reliance on the
techniques and feel of formerly-alive fat scream-master Alfred
Hitchcock. They've noted that its reliance on manufactured
tension is so contrived and cynical that the whole film's simply
a vanity project for director Robert Zemeckis. It is, in short,
nothing more than mechanical string-pulling of audience
emotions. Tellingly, the people who've loved What Lies Beneath
cite exactly the same reasons.  This is not a warm film. The
events take place in early autumn, as Vermont's famous forestry
breaks out in amazing displays of reds and browns. Every shot
and location suggests that, even though it might be sunny now,
it'll become chillingly breezy later. The characters are equally
icy - you see Claire Spencer's loneliness and Norman's
dedication to his work, but neither the screenplay nor
performances ever let you share it. Indeed