I'm sure that writer-director Mike Sarne thought he was developing a new cinematic paradigm when he was making Joanna, but the end result is less than satisfying. Genevieve Waite's over-the-top performance only makes sense by the time you reach the film's self-mocking conclusion, and by then you've had your fill of her. Rod McKuen's music is cloying and his singing is, as always, horrendous. Scott Walker's 'When Joanna Loved Me' is wasted during a cringeworthy 'dream' sequence. The excellent Calvin Lockhart (Halls of Anger, Room 222) can't save this film from the wretched performances of Waite and Donald Sutherland, who I've never seen to worse effect in his role as a dying aristocrat. An interesting period piece that has aged very badly.
