Three youthy and self-congratulatory Glaswegians, two men, one woman, to a cocktail-shaker beat in the background, subject prospective flatmates to a torturous inquisition (a variation on the standard "audition" montage), leaving viewers wondering why anyone would want to move in with them. (Not to mention into the eye-fatiguing confines of the robin's-egg-blue, sunflower-yellow, moss-green walls.) Someone eventually does move in -- someone more improbable than most, because he's got a suitcase full of hot loot, which he bequeaths to them by default when he promptly overdoses on drugs. What to do with the money? Keep it, silly. But then what to do with the body? Hack it up and bury it. Except who's to do the hacking? (Funny line: "But, Juliet, you're a doctor. You kill people every day!") The movie is technically quite skillful, even virtuosic, even exhibitionistic: e.g., overhead shots of the apartment through a series of peepholes drilled in the floor of the attic. At the same time, it's uninvolving, even irritating, even repelling. With Kerry Fox, Christopher Eccleston, Ewan McGregor; written by John Hodge; directed by Danny Boyle. (1994) — Duncan Shepherd