If you did not know this was a Tennessee Williams story, you could not tell from this film. This was more of a Harlequin romance than a Williams tale. Obviously Mrs. Stone is Williams' alter ego, and a respectable female heterosexual is not the equivalent of a male homosexual, respectable or not. You cannot play any of Williams' female protagonists as though they were actual, realistic women, and end up with a result that is anywhere near what Williams intended.
Much has been written of how the director wanted to play up the sudden poverty in post-war Italy which brought otherwise respectable people to remunerative decadence. That may very well be accurate, may very well have been noticed by Williams in his story, but that is not the point.
This film was boring. I can't fault the acting, and it would be very interesting to see what Anne Bancroft and Helen Mirren could do in creating Williams characters. I think that with the right direction, either or both of them would set fire to the screen. But they didn't get a chance to do that here. All I can advance as an explanation for this tepid romance is that the director had no clue. Williams has an undercurrent of repressed desire and unfulfilled yearning that causes disaster, regardless of whether it is indulged or repressed. The Glass Menagerie is a memory play and not a sex opus, and Summer and Smoke had a generally hopeful ending (though Alma might still come to grief, perhaps becoming Mrs. Stone). But those are the exceptions. The closest play to this story is Sweet Bird of Youth. Take the melodrama out of Sweet Bird, and you should have Roman Spring. But you should still have the erotic tension.
This production, though it had steamy scenes in its latter half, seemed more like a photo session for the cover of a romance novel than a Williams story.
What a waste of talent! The film was not horrible--one unfamiliar with Williams might not notice--but we know what might have been.
Much has been written of how the director wanted to play up the sudden poverty in post-war Italy which brought otherwise respectable people to remunerative decadence. That may very well be accurate, may very well have been noticed by Williams in his story, but that is not the point.
This film was boring. I can't fault the acting, and it would be very interesting to see what Anne Bancroft and Helen Mirren could do in creating Williams characters. I think that with the right direction, either or both of them would set fire to the screen. But they didn't get a chance to do that here. All I can advance as an explanation for this tepid romance is that the director had no clue. Williams has an undercurrent of repressed desire and unfulfilled yearning that causes disaster, regardless of whether it is indulged or repressed. The Glass Menagerie is a memory play and not a sex opus, and Summer and Smoke had a generally hopeful ending (though Alma might still come to grief, perhaps becoming Mrs. Stone). But those are the exceptions. The closest play to this story is Sweet Bird of Youth. Take the melodrama out of Sweet Bird, and you should have Roman Spring. But you should still have the erotic tension.
This production, though it had steamy scenes in its latter half, seemed more like a photo session for the cover of a romance novel than a Williams story.
What a waste of talent! The film was not horrible--one unfamiliar with Williams might not notice--but we know what might have been.