L'homme à la tête fêlée

Okay, to borrow a few things from the previous commenter's observations, sure, this is an adaptation from a novel, and apparently the main character is an obnoxious lout who happens to be a genius.

Here's where this film fails in just about every department.

Not for a second do we buy that Sean Connery's Samson is a "genius" in any sense of the word. He's a thick-headed brute who hollers anti-establishment rants that really aren't enlightened nor are they particularly radical. The fact is, though, that he hollers a lot. There is no modulation to Connery's performance. No sense of a human being in there. His character is drawn to just be the hunky societal interloper whose mere physicality and scowls suggest a counterpoint to everyday norm. Genius, he is not.

Topping poor Connery in the shouting department is the screeching yowl of Joanne Woodward, whose hapless wife character of Samson, Rhoda, is given all the depth of a punching bag (literally). Connery takes swipes at her head, connecting with her skull in the end, along with throwing every dish in the apartment in her direction. He even shoves her down the staircase resulting in a broken leg, and perhaps, 1960's sentiments saw this as an uproarious moment of hilarity. You know, madcap abuse of the wife is always so mercilessly humorous. Anyway, you get the picture (reference the above reference to "thick-headed brute").

Jean Seberg is absolutely wasted in this performance. She plays the stifled wife of a renowned psychiatrist, Patrick O'Neal, who for some reason, and quite illogically I can only add, winds up having sex with Connery in a whirlpool bath and then dumping him the next time she sees him. There is no logic in having her character even in this film other than to flesh out the above-the-line star wattage on the marquee.

Only Clive Revill, playing a hare-brained psycho-therapist in every sense of the word, cuts loose with the material and lends a Peter-Sellers-like diversion for a total of 3 minutes screen time.

I cannot conceive of any audience, whether in the '60s or today, eliciting anything more than ho-hum chuckle and a wan smile over this pale comedy with absolutely no focus and one of cinema's most ill-conceived one-note main characters.

My rating: 1 out of 5 stars.

A Fine Madness marks Sean Connery's venture into screen comedy and while the man has had many funny moments in his film, comedy was not his strong suit. Ironically he's cast opposite Joanne Woodward who as we know was married to someone who many critics also said was not at his best in comedy.

Whatever else is wrong with A Fine Madness I have always loved Connery's character name, Samson Shillitoe. One of the best screen names ever invented and so right for a would be poet.

Samson for Connery is a peculiar combination of James Bond and Ralph Kramden with Joanne Woodward as his long suffering Alice. This lout is also a chick magnet in the James Bond tradition, though God knows why. He's suffering writer's block and can't seem to finish this epic poem he's trying to write. He also has a process server in John Fiedler chasing him down for back alimony to a former wife.

Woodward puts him in the hands of psychiatrist Patrick O'Neal who claims he can cure creative people of their hangups so they can do their thing. Connery proves an interesting case however to O'Neal's colleagues, Colleen Dewhurst, Jon Lormer, Werner Peters, and especially Clive Revill who's developed a modified lobotomy that can really cure anti-social behavior. You'll find few screen characters as anti-social as Samson Shillitoe. He's also of interest to O'Neal's wife Jean Seberg who just plain ain't getting any lately.

There are some funny moments in A Fine Madness, but ultimately I found it unsatisfying. When all's said and done, though Ralph Kramden threatened many times to bang/zoom Alice to the moon, he never really did. Connery has battered Woodward and quite frankly she's a battered spouse. Why she puts up with him is beyond me completely.

And I'm surprised that this script didn't offend Joanne Woodward's feminist soul. She did the thing though to an unsatisfactory conclusion.

As a poet with writer's block who is institutionalized, Sean Connery distances himself quite grandly from screen alter-ego James Bond. Connery is unexpectedly gregarious as the avant-garde writer, Joanne Woodward is suitably shrill as his wife, and the supporting cast (including Jean Seberg and the wonderful Zohra Lampert) is uniformly terrific; however, this quirky piece on challenging the System is rather frantic and bumpy. Director Irvin Kershner has always been a little erratic, and his shifts in tone take a while getting used to. Elliot Baker's screenplay, adapted from his novel, is uneven, yet the film certainly looks good with handsome cinematography and fine use of New York locations. Often gets confused with "They Might Be Giants", another comedy which also co-starred Joanne Woodward and dealt with a certain madness. ** from ****

I saw this film when it was first released. It was a "fish out of water" comedy, a coarse brute running rampant among effete elitists. At that time, I had a lot of contact with numerous psychiatrist/psychoanalysts. This film brilliantly caught the self satisfied pomposity, the self promotional tendencies, and the double standards of this group. The psychoanalysts couldn't cope with this guy! I found this part of the film hilarious, although most of the humor would go unappreciated by those who didn't know any people in the psychoanalytic world.

I have seen this film many times since then. Much of it now makes me wince. The field of psychoanalysis has imploded and almost disappeared. Making fun of the pretensions of a now forgotten group of elitists is no longer very funny. Thus, it is a clumsy, sexist mild comedy. Yet, see it as a document of its time, and it is worthwhile.

"A Fine Madness" is a very strange movie. It stars Sean Connery (with a very strange performance, one of his worst - somewhere between Bond and a plain ruffian; frankly, I don't think Connery is apt for any comedy at all) plus a lavish supporting cast consisting of renowned character actors - but, still, the film is horrible.

It has an absolutely inane screenplay, and Irvin Kershner's (lack of) direction leaves a most confusing impression, even considering the somewhat strange Sixties style which was "en vogue" then. (John Addison's score, however is quite enjoyable.) You never know what's going to happen, and worse, you're not even interested in any of it. Nothing is truly funny, and some aspects are merely annoying (at least by today's standards), e.g. the jocularity of a man beating up his female companion. Samson Shillitoe is a despicable character, so you don't really convey any empathy for him or his needs. - What a waste of talent.