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and flip again. Victims will become victimizers; puppeteers, puppets; defenders, accusers. Questions of sanity and obsession will be raised and then reversed. (Echoes of Rear Window and Vertigo ring loudly.)There are some, no doubt, who will be disappointed by the film's cultivated confounding of expectations, and perhaps not without reason. The questions Side Effects raises early are genuine ones, and it ultimately evades them, opting for entertainment over moral exploration. But with a few exceptions—an unnecessary gust of same-sex steam in particular—the movie's evasions are diabolically sharp. (There are echoes, too, of Soderbergh's early effort The Underneath.) The cast is uniformly strong, with Law and Mara particular standouts; Burns's script has more twists than Lombard Street; and Soderbergh navigates with exquisite control. Will this be the director's last film, as he continues to claim? I confess that I can't conceive it, even with the outs he has granted himself to experiment in theater and on television