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I'll simply align myself with the other commentators who are bowled over by this Sirkfest's vibrant colors, use of lush fake-Liszt and Rachmaninoff, and surprising willingness to attack materialistic '50s values (in this last instance, the film's hardly dated a bit). True, the central romance isn't always convincing -- what does Ron see in Carrie, anyway? -- and the film has to oversimplify its characters to make its points. Carrie's daughter, a social-working bobby-soxer who quotes Freud and wears unflattering glasses, is meant to be something of a joke (until she sheds some feminine tears and suddenly becomes sympathetic); while Carrie's older suitor, underplayed by Conrad Nagel, is looked on as less than a desirable man simply because he limits himself to one drink. (In common with many films from this period, an awful lot of liquor is consumed.) Too, there's an impossibly melodramatic third act, where the circumstances of Ron's accident are howlingly implausible. Nice, though, that the always-reliable Agnes Moorehead plays a socialite who's not as shallow as she first seems, and that Wyman gets to model some attractive '50s fashions. Also note the sumptuous midcentury interiors -- whether the happy couple ends up living in Wyman's suburban mansion or Hudson's renovated barn, I want to live in them both.

At times, the aesthetic appeal of a film is so overwhelming, it surpasses the draw of the big-name stars and plot. And "All That Heaven Allows" is one of those rare examples. Anyone familiar with Douglas Sirk-directed projects knows his grandiose style. And this 1955 masterpiece sums up the best of Sirk drama, with the surface sheen, thundering music, noted stars and biting social commentary. This film, in fact, is so beautiful, that it requires repeated viewings just to be able to take it all in.

Jane Wyman and Rock Hudson re-team from Sirk's inferior "Magnificent Obsession" that was such a hit the year before. In this story, Wyman plays a wealthy widow bound to the claustrophobic confines of her uppity New England town. Her friends and two grown children do their best to convince her to marry Harvey, a stuffy and older neighborhood bachelor. But Wyman wants more. She ends up falling for her younger gardener, played by Hudson. After bonding over the virtues of the silver-tipped spruce, they embark on a love affair which is rejected by the community and Wyman's own children. They feel she is far too upstanding to be with a gardener. The reluctance of those around her to accept this relationship cause Wyman to have to choose between love or respect from her town.

Sirk takes what is a sappy, predictable tale and turns it into a visual feast. This is true eye candy for film buffs. Sirk sets the stage for this story against a heightened background of the reds, golds and yellows of a New England autumn. Every detail from Agnes Moorehead's red hair to sunsets to Wyman's lipstick and even the cars is given the Technicolor treatment to the max. Sirk's knack for visual irony is also heavily present throughout. The film opens with a shot of the town's clocktower with pigeons roosting. The pigeons are divided into two groups - a gaggle of black pigeons representing the townspeople on one end, and on the other are two white pigeons nuzzling, representing Wyman and Hudson and the division they face in this community. This is just for starters. Other stunning examples are when Sirk uses shades of blues and greys and reds to convey character's feelings of sadness or anger. And of course there is the famous television set scene. And through all of this emotion and cotton candy extravaganza is Frank Skinner's lush score that soars in all the right places. "All That Heaven Allows" is a first-rate classic that is a must for fans of Sirk or anyone who are devotees of lush melodramas from the studio heyday.

"All That Heaven Allows" is a film about risks, regrets, and unexpected second chances. We all have had something beautiful, exciting, and wonderful in our grasp, but some of us were foolish and scared enough to let that splendid something escape. Maybe we'll get another chance, maybe we won't, but the pain of regret in between can become unbearable.

This is what our protagonist, Cary Scott, goes through. Cary (Jane Wyman)is a widow of a certain age, who feels trapped by her pristine, suburban existence. She has two children who are away at college, and she is beginning to realize that all her neighbors who claim to be her friends are a bunch of shallow, phony elitists. Cary is unexpectedly swept off her feet by dashing nature lover Ron Kirby (Rock Hudson, as ridiculously charming and brawny as ever). They fall instantly in love and Cary's zest for life is restored by Ron's kindness and simple life values. The fact that Ron is Cary's gardener and over a decade younger than she is doesn't sit well with her neighbors, her callow, eggheaded daughter, or her boorish son. Cary tries to be strong, but her role as the perfect, 1950s suburbanite blinds her to her heart's desire. Cary ends her relationship with Ron... and soon sees how stupid she was to care about others' opinions. Will she get another chance at love, or is she doomed to waste away all alone in a small-town Purgatory?

Douglas Sirk drenches "All That Heaven Allows" in lush, autumnal hues and sweet, somewhat ironic, orchestral score. If it's not one of the best films ever made, it certainly is one of the most beautiful to look at. Wyman and Hudson ooze with romantic chemistry, and the supporting cast of actors are all deliciously hateful as the antagonists who try to tear our lovers apart. Hudson is charming and earthy as always, and with his soothing voice, broad shoulders and ready smile, you don't blame Cary at all for falling for him (who wouldn't??). I liked Jane Wyman as Cary, but found myself wishing she'd stop being so damn nice and just give her horrible kids and friends a good smack in the face and a proper chewing out for trying to dictate her life.

There is so much more going on beneath the surface of "ATHA": Sirk, without being preachy, shows us the common, conformist attitude of the 1950s. How many people saw their loved ones be blacklisted during the McCarthy years... and cruelly abandoned them just because of fear of rumors and speculation? How many husbands kept mum when women were practically forced to be only wives and mothers? "ATHA" doesn't bring up these issues, but it does make one important point: Conformity, injustice, and bitter silence ran rampant during that time. Yet older generations foolishly pine for the '50s with rose-colored nostalgia.

But throwing away your dreams because of what others' think is an ancient problem in human nature, which Sirk primarily addresses. We must learn, sooner or later, that it is more important to do what we feel, not what others tell us, is right. Follow you heart, Sirk urges us. This is what Cary must learn, what we must all learn.

German-born director Douglas Sirk made several melodramatic films in the 1950s that reflected Eisenhower-era sensibilities about morality and class structure within the flourish of his decidedly Baroque film-making approach. Dubbed trivially though appropriately as "women's pictures", they reflect a defining, often over-the-top style which has inspired other filmmakers, most obviously, Todd Haynes with his accomplished 2002 partial remake, "Far From Heaven". In my opinion, this 1955 film best represents Sirk's technique and consequently it is his best work. Fortunately, the Criterion Collection has seen fit to produce a DVD package commensurate with the quality of the film itself.

Similar to the later "Peyton Place", the plot is pure small-town soap opera, but the storyline is far more focused and nuanced than one would expect. Attractive fortyish widow Cary Scott is leading a sheltered life of unsolicited solitude with her beautiful home, circle of country club friends and two grown children away in college. She catches the eye of Ron Kirby, her young buck of a gardener, who turns out to be a non-materialistic, Thoreau-reading lover of nature who lives outside of town in a greenhouse in an only-in-Hollywood idyllic setting. Cary is definitely attracted to the much younger Ron, but her worries of what others may think prevents her from being too demonstrative about her feelings. Of course, their platonic relationship turns into forbidden love, at which point Cary tries to win the approval of her friends and children when she announces her engagement to Ron. In one way or the other, they all reject her decision, and she breaks off the engagement. The rest of the story works toward a hopeful but still tentative conclusion, which seems befitting of what audiences probably expected in the 1950s.

On the surface, it sounds as emotionally manipulative as a Danielle Steele romance novel. However, what fascinates me most about Sirk's film is how he sets up such an artificially-derived world and simultaneously shows how deeply committed he is in its credibility. The glorious Technicolor cinematography by the estimable Russell Metty (aided by "color consultant" William Fritzsche) adds to the hermetically sealed environment, but it's also due to how shots are meticulously composed, how the sets are placed, how people are dressed and how Frank Skinner's Rachmaninoff-inspired music heightens the melodrama. The right casting in such a movie, of course, is critical, and Sirk was smart to reunite Jane Wyman and Rock Hudson from their previous teaming in the even more melodramatic "Magnificent Obsession". With his steady, whispered tone and Adonis-like stature, the youthful Hudson is ideally cast as Ron, even if his relentless seriousness overemphasizes the character's innate nobility. What he does surprisingly well, however, is show how Ron's inability to compromise his principles is as much a barrier as the prejudices of Cary's friends and children.

Even better is the elegantly styled Wyman, who manages effectively to convey Cary's conflicting sensibilities and loneliness without seeming desperate. Well before she hardened her persona later with TV's "Falcon Crest", she exuded a girl-next-door likability that didn't really diminish as she matured. The rest of the cast is strong with particularly exceptional work by the women - Agnes Moorehead as Cary's supportive best friend Sara, Virginia Grey as Ron's close friend Alida, Jacqueline deWit as the venal gossip Mona, and Gloria Talbot as Cary's psychology-obsessed daughter Kay. The print transfer on the Criterion Collection DVD is pristine. There is also a nice extra with an edited 30-minute interview with Sirk from a 1979 BBC documentary, "Behind the Mirror".

All That Heaven Allows is a darker, more cynical film than Douglas Sirk's previously more conventional and successful Magnificent Obsession. Because of that film's attraction, Sirk was reunited with the two leads, Rock Hudson and Jane Wyman. The result is a more potent story and much stronger social criticism. From the opening shot, in all its Technicolor glory, we see an overhead view of a small, self-contained American town, idyllic in its existence with all the right colors and characters in their proper place. However, look a little closer and you will see the glistening of the plastic leaves and matte paintings as backdrops. Sirk shows us the surface of a seemingly perfect society while slightly skewering it by also revealing its artificiality and decadent skeletal structure.

To continue this deconstruction of 1950s America, we see a newly made widow, Cary Scott, who is now resigned to living her life according to the pleasures and approval of her ungrateful children and her condescending circle of friends. On the surface, this appears to be nothing more than fodder lifted out of typical gossip magazines of the era, but Sirk with his wildly imaginative visual style gives us something more to chew on. It soon becomes clear, especially once she strikes up a romance with her muscular gardener (Rock Hudson), she is unable to truly break free from the bonds of social convention and have a true sense of understanding the world Ron gives to her.

Sirk won't even let Ron off the hook. As in Magnificent Obsession, none of the character are so wonderful and virtuous that we should completely enamor ourselves to them. He himself is rather forceful, unmovable in his intentions to wed Cary without any understanding of her situation. Simply put, they both have deeply embedded flaws to deal with, a most shocking and unfortunate conclusion Sirk flaunts in front of us.

If you are in the mood for a good old-fashioned melodrama, Douglas Sirk is certainly your most popular option and just might be the best. Unlike other films of its type and time like the enormously successful Peyton Place or A Summer Place, Sirk goes much deeper than anyone else. Often, his films require several viewings to get a true understanding of what he is saying about these people, this time and this place. One final note; the ending will seem to many modern audiences as simple contrivance by the studio to assure profits. However, whether or not it was what Sirk intended, looking closer may result in seeing exactly what he wants us to see: unbridled selfishness for various reasons by all types of people.