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reviews edit
This film is so bad that it deserves more than a reference to the one devastating review that I have seen in English. This is more than just a bad film: someone should time just how many frames have Moore's cleavage as their focus. And then came the "c" word.
Moral: not every mediocre play makes for even a mediocre film. Note: the director took a credit as a writer with the original playwright.
Question: is the failure the script, the direction, the characters? Is this supposed to be some kind of cinematic phenomenology of day-dreaming in a time of loathing (see the connection of Fr. phenomenology to the "phony war" and under-employment - Sartre only gets his real job when a Jew is sacked.)
But no - there is nothing there. Would it work in 1957 Budapest? In 1977 Prague? In 1952 Moscow? Somewhere in the Middle East in 1922?
G. Robert Shiplett 23:38, 11 May 2012 (UTC)