Writers and directors of modern psycho-dramas apparently feel that their audiences won't understand that the characters and actions they are presenting are demented unless the presentation itself is demented. That's what we have here in a play, transplanted to the cinema, about a homicide apparently, but maybe not, by a schizoid, but maybe not, woman. We gather a mother has killed her daughter; that at least is fairly clear, but why? Perhaps the daughter was a wild one. Perhaps she was engaged in an incestuous affair with her father, or brother, or both, but still perhaps not. Whatever, the crime was covered up and the daughter buried. Then comes a strange girl blundering in on this family. Why did she pick them? Who knows? Is she running from a crime of her own? Maybe. Later on a deputy sheriff blunders into the mess. What happens to him? If you can figure it out, send me an e-mail. In other words, the purpose here seems to be not to tell a story, but to conceal it. Or perhaps the idea is to present a situation with a good many amorphous elements and let the audience tell its own story. If you really enjoy this sort of thing, then this film is for you. In any case, it is always a pleasure to see Blythe Danner at work, and those Kansas tornado skies would really have scared the hell out of Dorothy. How did the story turn out? I wouldn't tell even if I knew!
