I had hoped that this film would have improved over time for me, since I first saw it upon its release and then again last night, and I came away as empty as I did in 1992. Like a hot date that doesn't go anywhere, the story is all self-indulgence, hair, and costumes, dialogue that tries to be witty or to make a point but falls flat, and pithy observations about gender and feminism and the endless female struggle in a man's world, seen through man-shaming goggles. It aint Shakespeare, that's for sure. She finally gets her mediocre book or poetry or whatever published and makes something of his/her life and sees a gay angel floating in the air. What does it all mean? If you expected some grand statement about humanity from a person who has lived four centuries, you'll be disappointed.
