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Demme's stylish flurries and the no-one-is-who-they-seem-to-be plot keep us interested, even tough the film has a lifeless and rather flat tone to it, mostly because Wahlberg and Newton have so little chemistry. Newton does well channeling the spirit of Hepburn, right down to the costumes and camera angles; but Wahlberg never remotely approaches Grant's charm or mystery. He's just a very helpful, beefy hunk who's perhaps up to something. Meanwhile, Robbins is just too weird for words, with oddly stilted dialog and a manner that assures up that he's definitely up to something. But despite the whizzy images and the knotted plot, the film lacks the spark and pacing needed to drive the story. And a couple of bizarre Charles Aznavour cameos certainly don't help! Eventually all the red herrings overwhelm the plot, leaving too little substance to hold on to and leading to a climax that can't be anything other than anti-climactic. Watchable but deeply unnecessary.