Identity crisis

The younger woman pours a steady stream of sugar into hercoffee cup. Her life could use a little sweetening up: She’s Chloe, a call girlwho lives out other people’s fantasies while shutting out her own. “I canbecome your first kiss, or a torn-out image from a Playboy magazine you sawwhen you were 9 years old,” she says. “I can become your living, breathingdream. Then I can disappear.”

In the eyes of another woman, that same stream of sugarmight represent sand rushing through an hourglass. She’s Catherine, agynecologist who once thought she was happily married and a good mom; now,she’s not sure she qualifies for either category. Her husband, David, is almostcertainly cheating on her, and her teenage son, Michael, finds her moreannoying than admirable.

“I think I’m 19, and then I look in the mirror,” Catherinesays, “and I’m this old person.”

The worlds of Chloe and Catherine collide in director AtomEgoyan’s “Chloe,” which creates a compelling, offbeat situation in its firsthour before unraveling in its final reels. The movie is anchored by aspellbinding performance by Amanda Seyfried as the enigmatic Chloe and apotent, typically rich turn by Julianne Moore as Catherine, who keeps usguessing about whether she finds Chloe enviable or contemptible, irresistibleor insufferable. Liam Neeson plays the sad-eyed David, and Max Thieriot is castas Michael, who lives in his parents’ house, but doesn’t feel obliged to followhis mother’s rules; both men are very good, but “Chloe” is almost entirelySeyfried and Moore’s show.

Erin Cressida Wilson’s screenplay, a curious mixture ofvalid observations about mid-life misgivings and far-fetched complications, hasCatherine sending Chloe on a peculiar mission: Sweet-talk David into bed, andshare whatever information she can piece together about why he is the way heis. Chloe succeeds — hardly surprising, since Seyfried’s angelic face, devilishsmile and willowy body make Megan Fox look about as hot as Grandma Moses.

The characters in Egoyan’s best films (“Exotica,” “The SweetHereafter”) seem to float in an atmosphere above the Earth, in which timepasses a little slower and environments always seem a bit more amplified.“Chloe” presents Toronto as a sleek sexual playpen, in which glasses ofchardonnay sparkle like streetlights and a stroll through a botanical garden islike a tour of Eden. The seductive set-up is also reminiscent of the greatmid-1980s work of director Alan Rudolph (“Choose Me,” “Trouble in Mind”), whoalso enjoyed turning relationships inside out. There’s a chill beneath thesteaminess, a growing awareness that everyone involved is making decisions thatcan only lead to disaster.

Unfortunately, in the last half-hour, “Chloe” loses itsbalance and begins sliding perilously close to hysterical camp. While Seyfriedand Moore give it their all, they can’t save the film once it goes into itstailspin. The first two-thirds of “Chloe” are sexy soap opera; the feeblefinale is a very cold morning-after shower.