![]() ![]() ![]() Some of the locales are accurately evocative, and Torn is reasonably credible in the lead. It was certainly interesting to see Rip Torn so young and so good-looking, and to see Ellen Burstyn in such a flagrant display of nudity. It's structured as if somebody said "let's make a film of Tropic of Cancer" without actually feeling any passion for why they wanted to do that. Such picaresque efforts rely on the charm of characterization for impact, and this film has some of that, but not enough. Many scenes seem to concentrate on the minor characters for much too long, and without apparent purpose. It represents a string of vignettes, and they don't seem to lead to any common goal. The movie could never find anything to focus on. It tried now with a Rip Torn overvoice reading from Miller's work, then with some poetic shots of the beauty of Paris. The movie had difficulty synthesizing this sense of sacred and profane in harmony. He is the modern Catullus, the poet not of "lovemaking" but of the joys of flat-out *****ing. In order to appreciate Henry Miller's style, it is essential to get a feel for the juxtaposition of his elegant, often heartfelt prose, and the profane nature of his subject matter. ![]()
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