Review by Spleen

David Williamson has written some very good plays, but even the best of them can't be removed from the stage without wilting. This is not one of the best of them.

To be honest, it feels as though it's been cranked out. "Let me write a play (or script) about ..." Williamson thinks for a moment, fixes on "workplace sexual harassment", starts banging away that very instant at the typewriter, sticks to the scenic formula that's worked so well in the past, throws in a revelation of some kind every few pages, and it's done. The result is not at all brilliant. (Nor are the lies brilliant. Don't expect Baron Münchhausen, is all I'm saying.) Even so, it probably works well enough on stage.

But it's not on stage and it flat as a lilypad. Michael Veitch plays the part of the family Christian who no-one takes seriously in a manner that might also work on stage, but which is embarrassingly cartoony here. (It's possible to count and catalogue his mannerisms.) Principle leads are competent but don't shine. Direction is leaden. Now and then the action moves out of doors or down the corridor - as if that could possibly help matters.

If I were to say that it's boring I might mislead you. Williamson's craft ensures that it's not at all likely to induce sleep, and it's possibly worth watching as a way of passing an hour and a half; but any other film at all, provided it's one that's not positively bad, would serve just as well.