Finding a chink in the armor of this film's dramatic gusto is tantamount to spotting a flaw in the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel - it is, to put it mildly, unlikely to occur. Katharine Hepburn (as good here, if not better, than her gripping work as Eleanor of Aquitaine in Anthony Harvey's The Lion in Winter), Paul
Scofield (always a treasure, as masterful here as Tobias, particularly in his tortuous dialogue with Harry in Act III, as he was as Sir Thomas More in A Man For All Seasons), and Kate Reid (an unstoppable force as the bawdy, alcoholic Claire - a perceptive, staring Cassandra in the midst of the crumbling family) are beyond criticism. It is an added pleasure to see Joseph Cotten (whose career seemed to inexplicably wither after The Third Man) as Harry; Lee Remick (perhaps the most surprising source for such an emotionally fractured, spiraling descent into infantile madness) and Betsy Blair (particularly wonderful as Edna in her showdown with Remick's Julia) round out a solid cast. The one drawback to this dramatic powerhouse is Tony Richardson's meandering, insipid direction and David Watkin's grimy photography; they could never do much to diminish the theatrical histrionics, though a more expressionistic filmmaker may have been able to provide a better piece of cinematic vision. As it is, the film boasts no more visual glamour than a 1970s Masterpiece Theatre cavalcade. Nevertheless, the performances reign supreme.
September 1, 2010
