An aging prostitute who's lost a daughter and a rich, waif-like young woman who's lost a mother meet and bond. This is the premise for "Secret Ceremony". For my money a film had better have a pretty decent story to back up such an obvious conceit. As the cash-challenged Elizabeth Taylor character enters her surrogate daughter's gloomy mansion and spies the golden goose - and a particular fur coat - I wanted to scream, "Get out, you bonehead! Can't you see that no good can come of this?" But without boneheads poking around in places they don't belong there'd be no psycho-thrillers, would there?
The problem with "Secret Ceremony" is that there's only a little bit of this and a little bit of that. There's not enough suspense to conjure up a decent thriller and, in fact, precious little meat on the bone for a feature film, even one as morose and dreary as this. In one scene Mia Farrow writhes in solo sexual heat against the kitchen table, but that was merely embarrassing to watch. It's a clunker of a scene because - at least for me - the story just simply isn't engaging enough to support such indelicate goings-on. Late in the film Robert Mitchum sleep-walks his way onto the set. The British turned out a lot of these moody psycho-dramas, as I call them, in the 60's, and I'll mention a few really good ones: Jack Clayton's "Our Mother's House" and "The Innocents", Bryan Forbes' "Seance on a Wet Afternoon", Losey's own "The Servant" (a masterpiece with a disturbing ring of truth). Oh, and a little Hammer B-movie gem, "Die! Die! My Darling!", which is a delightful breath of foul air. There's nothing to say that a film can't offer a little insight and be entertaining at the same time.
The problem with "Secret Ceremony" is that there's only a little bit of this and a little bit of that. There's not enough suspense to conjure up a decent thriller and, in fact, precious little meat on the bone for a feature film, even one as morose and dreary as this. In one scene Mia Farrow writhes in solo sexual heat against the kitchen table, but that was merely embarrassing to watch. It's a clunker of a scene because - at least for me - the story just simply isn't engaging enough to support such indelicate goings-on. Late in the film Robert Mitchum sleep-walks his way onto the set. The British turned out a lot of these moody psycho-dramas, as I call them, in the 60's, and I'll mention a few really good ones: Jack Clayton's "Our Mother's House" and "The Innocents", Bryan Forbes' "Seance on a Wet Afternoon", Losey's own "The Servant" (a masterpiece with a disturbing ring of truth). Oh, and a little Hammer B-movie gem, "Die! Die! My Darling!", which is a delightful breath of foul air. There's nothing to say that a film can't offer a little insight and be entertaining at the same time.