"Suicide is painless", the M. A. S. H. song announced, but Hester (played by a negative Vivien Leigh) is determined to commit suicide, beginning and ending the film on the verge of it.
I have long admired Ukrainian-born Director Anatole Litvak for his ability to bring emotional situations to the screen, and I am particularly fond of GOODBYE AGAIN and SNAKE PIT, but here the room where pretty much all the action unfolds has no view at all, other than suicide.
Perhaps the beautiful Vivien Leigh identified with Hester's plight because in reality she was a nymphomaniac bipolar schizophrenic who kept cheating husband Laurence Olivier with Peter Finch and a host of other men, and it fits that she might want to convey to all that she could only see suicide as the solution. Sad as that might be, she died in 1967 of chronic TB.
I watched a shabby, rather unfocused copy of this claustrophobic film on Youtube, which only rendered it bleaker, but I still liked Kenneth More's performance, a happy jobless golfer brimming with unconcerned humor and selfishness, Eric Portman as the horse race bookie apparently preparing medication for the quadruped competiitors who comes to her rescue, Emlyn Williams, as her ditched Old Bailey judge husband who still loves her but is shunned, Moira Lister as the gossipmonger of a neighbor, and other minor characters who you can see fitting into this play by Terence Rattigan.
Vivling, as Larry Olivier used to call his then wife, delivers a rather cold and helpless performance vaguely reminiscent of Blanche in STREETCAR NAMED DESIRE but without the sympathetic touch and the deft direction of Kazan, and not even Jack Hildyard can save the film from unremitting hopelessness with his usually top notch cinematography, here reduced to pretty one living room, with the odd exterior shot.
All told, I can understand why the film rated a dud with critics when it came out. 6/10.
