When one considers that Carson McCullers is one of the foremost literary figures of the 20th century, it seems that it needs a very great lack of talent to be able to ruin one of her stories, but this movie shows it can be done! How do actors ingratiate their way to becoming directors? Wooden, unatmospheric, unsympathetic, totally out of sync with the poetic compassion of McCullers' writing, my jaw dropped with horror and disbelief that such a mish-mash of a movie could ever have found finance and backers. The only redeeming features are some moderately good acting, (although that said, Vanessa Redgrave seems to permanently render much the same performance whatever character she plays), and some good cinematography in places, but otherwise it is a bitter, bitter disappointment, and it could, and indeed should, have been a contemporary masterpiece. Simon Callow should hang his head in shame and stick to acting!