A Sensitive, Passionate Man

As a late comer fan of David Janssen's, I been looking for some time for this film and finally found it-- "A Sensitive, Passionate Man"-- for sale on the Internet.

I almost wish I hadn't. The acting by Janssen is almost too believable and I was quite unsettled by the whole story. My late husband was an alcoholic and some of the scenes were just so true to life that it brought up memories that were painfully familiar.

For its time, it was a very good portrayal of a subject that wasn't dealt with openly in society. Folks didn't really understanding that alcoholism is a disease, not a character flaw. Unfortunately, as in the film, sometimes the patient is lost. I watched my husband die of problems related to drinking and the final scene was almost more than I could personally take.

For Janssen fans, it is also notable that he helped write the title song for the film!

Regret can't really watch films about alcoholism, Angie Dickinson's presence notwithstanding. And poor David Janssen, long one of my favourite TV actors, looked old and tired by this time.

A searing portrait of alcoholism. I haven't ever seen a movie quite like this. An unsparing, brutal look at middle-class alcoholism and it's effects on life, job, loved ones, health, etc.

David Janssen plays an Aerospace Engineer who loses his job. He, obviously, gains his self-worth from his job, and now, he is pretty much adrift. He treats his pain with old reliable, alcohol. This time, however, he has no career to prop him up. His slow sink into alcohol devastation is played out slowly and painfully. The effect on his wife (Angie Dickinson) and his kids is heartbreaking, and very difficult to watch.

This is a movie with no happy endings, but is a fascinating and honest (for its day) look at the ugly, underside of alcoholism.

Remarkable performances by Janssen and Dickinson. An overlooked gem.

Perhaps this telefilm was so good because of David Janssen's own battles with alcohol that, within three years would play a role in taking his own life. Janssen was always an underrated actor, but this was the defining role of a highly successful television career.

In the picture, Janssen plays an unemployed aerospace engineer who has lost his zest for life and finds solace in the bottle. While the audience wants to scream at the character for giving up when he was so much to live for... a sexy wife (Angie Dickinson), a nice home and two great kids, the character simply cannot see what he has to live for. This, and Janssen's performance, are the primary reasons for the quality of this film.

Janssen, in particular, is dynamite in the tragic story. He looks older than the character is supposed to be and his boozy dialogue is delivered perfectly. One scene, in particular stands out. After a while on the wagon, Janssen convinces Dickinson that it's okay to have a little cooking wine. You know the rest.

A heartbreaking story of a man with everything to live for, but who is too blind to see it and simply cannot imagine his life without alcohol. Janssen is riveting.

I remember seeing the original broadcast of this made for TV movie at the age of about 25 in the late seventies and finding it well above average in every way one with an appetite for much beyond mindless nonsense might wish for in passing prime time, and since then have enjoyed reruns of A Sensitive Passionate Man at least once or twice and probably will again if the opportunity arises conveniently. My only problem with this story is its title, because most guys would probably feel uncomfortable reciting those words to describe a good show they experienced about a hardcore alcoholic and his otherwise reasonably successful family life. So my main suggestion would be to warn anyone against neglecting this fine film on that basis alone because you definitely will be missing something very special. David Janssen and Angie Dickenson both give very moving, unschmaltzy performances complemented by a capable cast of believable supporting players including the children victimized by this suburban American tragedy.