There are some movies where you just sit there wondering how to cover both your eyes and your ears as one affront to taste follows another. "No: they can't possibly..." But yes. A plot that is a succession of utterly preposterous devices constructed to allow the producer's g.f. to age conspicuously and emote. Awful, pompous dialogue, the kind that actors wade through: notice the glassy eyes of anyone on-screen who has had to listen to the stuff for fifty takes. An unerring eye for visual kitsch. All with a score from Claude Debussy.
Poor Jennifer Jones. The story was a dumb idea in the first place, she's miscast, the words are duff, and to cap it all she's been directed into the ground. "Be more winsome!" She looks like a kind of desperate ventriloquist's dummy. She's just awful.
Joseph Cotten as a romantic fruitcake painter is deeply, deeply unconvincing. The script doesn't help, but he's just not romantic lead material.
But still, I bet this was Liberace's favourite movie. Just the thing to watch while a candelabra rotates on your grand piano.
Poor Jennifer Jones. The story was a dumb idea in the first place, she's miscast, the words are duff, and to cap it all she's been directed into the ground. "Be more winsome!" She looks like a kind of desperate ventriloquist's dummy. She's just awful.
Joseph Cotten as a romantic fruitcake painter is deeply, deeply unconvincing. The script doesn't help, but he's just not romantic lead material.
But still, I bet this was Liberace's favourite movie. Just the thing to watch while a candelabra rotates on your grand piano.