Read any article about John Cheever and you will come across the word "metaphor" by the end of the first paragraph. The protagonist in "The Swimmer" isn't really swimming home, nor is the radio in "The Enormous Radio" really picking up other people's conversations. We're not supposed take these things literally; we're supposed to see them as a symbol or metaphor for something deeper and more subtle. Despite Bert Lancaster's formidable talents, "The Swimmer" didn't translate well to the big screen, and "O Youth and Beauty" fares even worse on the small screen. Sullen and miserable as he stumbles around in an alcoholic haze, Gary Merrill's character lacks a single redeeming quality and he looks hopelessly out of place in every scene. Merrill himself is also hopelessly miscast. Merrill's trademark as an actor was the ability to look older and wiser than his years, and he is the last person on earth one would associate with athletic glory, even if the glory was supposed to be in his youth. (If we're into another metaphor here with the casting choice, fine, but enough is enough.) If you put John Cheever up on the screen, you have a "literal" translation whether you like it or not. Here, the hurdling scenes come across as dopey and painfully contrived, and I couldn't wait for his wife to finally shoot this petulant whiner and put an end to all his stupid blather.
Starter pistols don't have real bullets in them, of course, so this is yet another "metaphor" better suited for an English Lit class than a TV audience.
Starter pistols don't have real bullets in them, of course, so this is yet another "metaphor" better suited for an English Lit class than a TV audience.