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Review title: Great 1977 movie wants rediscovering
Product review: I viewed this film repeatedly in 1977, drawn by the imagery and by the narrative--which seemed to mystify many critics at the time. Some called it "pretentious"; that's what Americans always say when they can't figure out what the French are up to. 30 years later, the narrative structure isn't any more complex than Pulp Fiction, or perhaps The Hours. During one long night a dying artist (John Gielgud) contemplates plot options for his last book. Memories of his life, and his children (whom he loves too well, or possibly loathes) intrude on his creative efforts. John Gielgud carries most of the movie. What could have been a dreary or ponderous subject is rather buoyant and clever with Gielgud as the difficult author. And then the movie is just beautiful, and beautifully whimsical. Does art imitate life? Does life imitate art? Great subject, great movie, great director: where's the DVD?
