So, I went and saw Identity the other weekend. Once again, a movie I can't actually tell you anything about. Sometimes, being a movie critic isn't all it's cracked up to be.

I must say, I was very excited. I have long been of the opinion that John Cusack = Good, and will stand by that belief until he proves me wrong. And I hadn't been to the movies since the ill-fated Daredevil outing, fearing something even worse.

But this time, it seemed that from the moment I got to the theater, everything went right, which is an oddity in itself. I got a parking space right up front, there was no line at the ticket counter, and all of my friends showed up on time—perhaps the most amazing part of all. The ticket-ripping guy didn't harass me when I didn't have any change for kids with cancer, and nobody too tall sat in front of me. In fact, I discovered when the end credits rolled that there had been a baby almost directly in front of me—and it didn't make a sound throughout the whole film. I found that very impressive. I only wish the people behind me had been as courteous as that little baby…but I'm focusing on the good.

And on top of everything else, somebody in the projection booth screwed up, and we got to see the Pirates of the Caribbean trailer twice. Bonus! Twice as much Johnny Depp with an accent!

Anyhow, I guess should get to actually reviewing the film. So, let's get a move on.

Although most people didn't realize it, Identity is a horror movie, although it's billed as a psychological thriller. And while it is that as well, come on: group of people meet in deserted motel on rainy night; group of people begin getting bumped off one by one. How can that be anything else but a horror movie?

Once it becomes clear nobody's leaving the motel for the night, the characters start to emerge. We've got Ed (Cusack), an angst-y ex cop-cum-limo driver who takes control when he's needed. Then we've got Paris (Amanda Peet), a tough-chick prostitute with a suitcase full of money. Ray Liotta shows up as Rhodes, a corrections officer transporting a criminal (Jake Busey, who will someday soon surpass his father Gary for the title of "Guy Who Looks the Craziest No Matter What He's Doing"). We've also got a pair of young newlyweds (Clea DuVall and William Lee Scott) with problems, a dirty-looking motel clerk (John Hawkes), and a quiet suburban family (John C. McGinley, Leila Kenzle, and Bret Loehr-whoever made this film did not get my memo about creepy little kids) who have it rough right from the get-go. And finally, we have Rebecca DeMornay as a spoiled, loud-mouthed, complaining, has-been actress, the occupant of Ed's limo.

Guess who dies first? It's not really a surprise. Any movie whose opening credits include the tag "And (insert name of moderately well-known person here)" is just telling you that the "and" person is going to bite it. Go watch Mission to Mars or even Star Wars, and tell me if I'm wrong: "And Alec Guinness." That's a death sentence, right there. You get an "and" before your credit, and you're either dead, or in the movie for one scene.

So, people start dying, and in some pretty clever ways, really. There are some jumps, some "Ewww!"-s, and some "Wait, huh?"-s that make the film interesting from beginning to end. Within the first twenty minutes of the movie, I turned to my friend Cheryl and gave her my opinion of the outcome, which she heartily agreed with.

About an hour later, the movie took a sudden and drastic left turn. The funny thing about this left turn is that it blows you away for a few seconds, and then, everything that didn't make sense before falls into place. Any predictions you'd made about the end are shot down like a "weather balloon" over an air base, and you're cast into the realm of cinematic uncertainty. And then, after all the twists and turns…

It still ends exactly the way you thought it was going to, back before anything got weird.

When I left the theater, I was prepared to go three and a half doors. My whole crew really enjoyed the movie. I had my strange thing for John Cusack, Cheryl had her weird Ray Liotta fetish, and people died. That's really all I ask in a movie. Well, maybe all that and Raisinettes; I've pretty much given up on pie fights. Nobody appreciates those anymore.

But upon further reflection, the whole film loses a little shine. Looking back, it almost seemed that the movie was written around the scares and the deaths and the carnage, as if somebody shot some primo gore and then said "No, wait! Now we need to figure out who did it, and why." And if some of the plot seems somewhat slapped-together and a little weak, anything that doesn't make sense can be discounted by the end of the film—a nice little escape for the filmmakers.

But for once, I didn't care that it was a little hastily put together. Out of respect for my lingering doubt that the movie I saw was the movie that was meant to be made, I'm going to cut my rating down to three and a quarter doors. [Insert obligatory editorial grumble about using in-stock graphics and howinhellamisupposedtoQUARTERadoor here]

But I also have to remember this: knowing that X-Men United and Matrix Reloaded were both less than three weeks away was going to make any movie suck.