Everything about this sickly adaptation of Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray stinks to heaven: stinks its saccharin cloying disco soundtrack, stinks Cheshire Cat's grin of a protagonist throughout the film, stinks its stuffy atmosphere of cheap glamour. After the publication of bestseller about the model Dorian - I wonder what kind of bestseller may be written about a man advertising underwear - he becomes famous and forever young thanks to devilish charms put into his photograph and forever intoxicated on drugs and alcohol he's galloping through beautiful people's parties thanks to his putrid popularity straight to his unavoidable bitter end. If there weren't so many funny Malcolm McDowell's grimaces, for whom playing a demonic being is business as usual, I would have given this piece of crud just one star.
