The basic genre is a thriller intercut with an uncomfortable menage-a-trois. Fellowes has tried to make a lot more out of this, using the lies of the title in order to bring about all manner of small twists, invariably designed to surprise the characters more than the audience.<br /><br />It's really rather messy though. Fellowes doesn't seem interested presenting the thriller elements in a fashion that will keep us seat-edged. Rather his focus is on the moral predicaments themselves.<br /><br />The dialogue is inconsistent, stagey here, vernacular there and with the constant surprise of realism undone by the occasional cliché-landmine. Though there is no fussing over the locations so that the actors can get on with existing in their space the dreadful score can't create a further dimension and often works against the emotional momentum of given set pieces. There's also a very prosaic, dare I say it British feel to the filming. I didn't want to see a document of two successful middle class people caught in an extraordinary situation, I wanted to see some sort of artful recounting of the story.<br /><br />Finally it is, in fact, the story which lets the rest down. Just as the elements of suspense are rather flat so the story is an asymmetric sum of subplots of different shapes and sizes, woven as a vehicle for character examination. Wilkinson and Watson support this meta-essay with good performances and John Warnaby's ebullient colleague Simon to Wilkinson is a welcome foil for much of the brow-furrowing.<br /><br />I'm disappointed; not that it's bad, but that it could have been much better. 3/10