Bizarre is probably the best word to use when describing this film. The plot lazily, and arbitrarily, bounces back and forth between totally under-written characters and indeterminate settings (at one point I thought some scenes were taking place in Monte Carlo), with barely a nod to coherence. Blair Brown, always fascinating, doesn't have too much to work with here; her character is woefully undeveloped. The mysterious stranger is nothing more than a stalker, and no reason is given for her falling in love with him other than the luxury he can offer her. Bridget Fonda has nothing to do; the scenes in the hospital seem straight out of another movie (or an episode of St. Elsewhere). Despite the flim's almost dizzying lack of sense, I could not, at times, take my eyes away from it. This film is redolent of the sort of warm-shadowed, color-flecked rococo headiness (just look at the title sequence) that is often associated with the culture of the late eighties (watch Bonfire of the Vanities- dont turn up the volume, or pay attention to the characters, just look at the sets). Perhaps the incoherence of the film added to this mysterious gauziness. In any case, I still cant believe this came out of David Hare (despite the presence of Blair Brown). A playwright I usually admire, Hare can go off track, and this is a definite instance of that. There is even a gratuitous, non-sequitur joke about actors, done in a set that includes a poster for a Hare play. This sort of in-jokeyness is completely out of place in a film that sets itself up as a psychological mystery/romance. Also, Nick Bicat's score is distracting, often building into pointless crescendoes in the middle of talky scenes. This movie is . . . . well, lets just call it a curiosity.
