A cursory glance in the direction of Theresa Russell and Art Garfunkel should indicate to anyone other than the brain dead that this is never going to be a match made in heaven. Their erotic, chaotic and ultimately disastrous union told in an episodic, fragmented, flashback heavy format, steers a dizzy course between the mesmerizing and the perplexing, as the movie bends over backwards to score points with the art house set. Visually pulsating, but constantly struggling to be inherently cohesive.
Russell gives the performance of her life as the vivacious, flamboyant, but chronically unstable (and married) blonde siren, always teetering on the edge, leaving the chain smoking, monosyllabic Garfunkel plugging the gaps, with his expressionless face and clipped, impervious responses to detective, Harvey Keitel's probes into the suspicious circumstances surrounding Russell's near death experience. Intellectual, but painfully dull and remote, he's clearly not cut out to be a bridge over her troubled water. Garfunkel?........More like a carbuncle!
A Len Goodman style SE-VEN, primarily for Russell's bewitchingly sensual performance.
Russell gives the performance of her life as the vivacious, flamboyant, but chronically unstable (and married) blonde siren, always teetering on the edge, leaving the chain smoking, monosyllabic Garfunkel plugging the gaps, with his expressionless face and clipped, impervious responses to detective, Harvey Keitel's probes into the suspicious circumstances surrounding Russell's near death experience. Intellectual, but painfully dull and remote, he's clearly not cut out to be a bridge over her troubled water. Garfunkel?........More like a carbuncle!
A Len Goodman style SE-VEN, primarily for Russell's bewitchingly sensual performance.