Three is a glorious piece of trash cinema.
There are two strong arguments in favour of it, and they both belong to Kelly Brook. Washed up on a very small but highly photogenic desert island with nothing but a yellow cardie, a chiffon scarf, and a tiny white bikini (which she sheds at the drop of a hat, not that hats are very much in evidence), she is wholly dependent on Spanish boat boy Juan Pablo Di Pace for survival. Then, after a couple of days her rich husband Billy Zane washes up, assumes the two of them have been at it like rabbits and bingo! We have an eternal triangle.
Actually, that's not so bad as a concept. Where Three falls down is in the execution, for what then transpires is the most lurid of melodramas, based on the improbable supposition that Zane's character, faced with survival on the most marginal of terms, will prove to be so insecure, paranoid, and downright delusional, that he will monomaniacally devote critical resources towards the destruction of his imagined rival. OK, so this situation isn't arrived at in a single leap, but that is basically what goes wrong.
Zane, of course, never someone to knowingly underperform, chews the attractive scenery (literally as far as the coconuts are concerned) with relish. Brook overflows from the bikini very nicely which seems to be the sole reason the two men lock horns, because it's surely not for her thoughtful problem-solving approach to their predicament: she brings all the depth of a very shallow puddle to the character. Only Di Pace emerges with dignity, giving us a credible boatboy who finds himself in a situation which is completely beyond his control. And I don't mean the shipwreck.
On the other hand, the movie is one of those which is so bad as to be fairly entertaining!
There are two strong arguments in favour of it, and they both belong to Kelly Brook. Washed up on a very small but highly photogenic desert island with nothing but a yellow cardie, a chiffon scarf, and a tiny white bikini (which she sheds at the drop of a hat, not that hats are very much in evidence), she is wholly dependent on Spanish boat boy Juan Pablo Di Pace for survival. Then, after a couple of days her rich husband Billy Zane washes up, assumes the two of them have been at it like rabbits and bingo! We have an eternal triangle.
Actually, that's not so bad as a concept. Where Three falls down is in the execution, for what then transpires is the most lurid of melodramas, based on the improbable supposition that Zane's character, faced with survival on the most marginal of terms, will prove to be so insecure, paranoid, and downright delusional, that he will monomaniacally devote critical resources towards the destruction of his imagined rival. OK, so this situation isn't arrived at in a single leap, but that is basically what goes wrong.
Zane, of course, never someone to knowingly underperform, chews the attractive scenery (literally as far as the coconuts are concerned) with relish. Brook overflows from the bikini very nicely which seems to be the sole reason the two men lock horns, because it's surely not for her thoughtful problem-solving approach to their predicament: she brings all the depth of a very shallow puddle to the character. Only Di Pace emerges with dignity, giving us a credible boatboy who finds himself in a situation which is completely beyond his control. And I don't mean the shipwreck.
On the other hand, the movie is one of those which is so bad as to be fairly entertaining!