David Cronenberg's adaptation of J.G. Ballard is the twisted shadow of every movie in which teens work off sexual energy by drag racing or cops test their machismo with a highway chase. Not for the faint of heart, it centers on creeps who get sexual kicks from grisly accident photos, scars and leg braces. Leave it to Cronenberg (and James Spader, natch) to bring this uniquely sick vision to the screen with anything near credibility.