Just what we need: a film that legitimizes clairvoyance. Now every wingnut who dreams that Elvis flew over his house singing "Love Me Tender" and sprinkling a pixie dust of Wonder Bread crumbs and barbituates will emerge from the woodwork to lay claim to his rightful slice of millennial zeitgeist.
What goes on here is that Claire Cooper (Annette Bening) has dreams that seem to predict future events. They're actually the viewpoint of killer Vivian Thompson (Robert Downey, Jr.), who, as a young lad, was chained to his bed while his town was flooded to create a reservoir. Sadly, he escaped.
The dream thing really irritates Claire's husband, Paul (Aidan Quinn), because when they start to have sex, Claire drifts into her netherworld and then has some kind of physical reaction like biting Paul on the lip or clamping down on his penis with vaginal muscles stronger than a bear trap. Despite sporting a member that looks like dangling roadkill, Paul tries to help his wife by seeking the aid of a psychiatrist, Dr. Silverman (Stephen Rea).
Dr. Silverman has the bedside manner of a rabid badger and is about as useful. As such -- shock of shocks -- nobody really believes Claire, leaving her to fend for herself. How director Neil ("The Butcher Boy") Jordan got roped into making this film is anybody's guess, but it probably had something to do with truckloads loads of cash supplied by DreamWorks, which has produced so many bad movies in its short history that the plans for "E.T. 2: Eliot, The Frat Party Years" may yet be rescued from the scrap heap.
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