The setting is London of 1970 and shows privileged people against a background of economic crisis and West End squalor. The main feature is intended (I believe) to be a love triangle whose base is a straight woman (Glenda Jackson) working in a recruitment firm and a gay doctor (Peter Finch) and whose apex is a bisexual artist (Murray Head). The Jackson and Finch characters are solid, sympathetic, interesting and credible, but the artist is so utterly heartless and, above all, frivolous that it's difficult to imagine anyone being in love with him for more than a night. This weakens the film considerably. Moreover the gay aspect is no longer (2022) interesting. Instead I was left with a sense of astonishment at how much smoking goes on in this movie; people were lighting up at every opportunity and puffing enthusiastically. Actually the smoking was more enthusiastic than any sex that went on.
Review of Sunday Bloody Sunday
