Anjelica Huston devises her own personal solution to the shortage of parts for mature women: directing herself in the lead role of a widowed mother of seven, in Dublin circa the middle late Sixties. ("Seven children and" -- demonstrating her unfamiliarity with Masters and Johnson -- "not one organism to show for it.") It is no great shakes: a pinch of Irish gloom, a pinch of Irish glister, a pinch of Irish grit, a pinch of Irish goop, all ingredients kept quite separate and unblended. The episode when the protagonist spirits away her bosom buddy (Marion O'Dwyer, all rounded and soft where Huston is angular and bony) for an afternoon at the seaside, never letting on that she knows her buddy is secretly and stoically dying of cancer, is achingly lovely, with an achingly lovely rendition of "My Bonnie" in the background. The fairy-tale finish is rather tarnished by the inability of the Tom Jones of today to pass as the Tom Jones of decades ago. (Even less able than the Billy Idol of The Wedding Singer to do the same for himself.) No one undermines faith like the self-deluded. (1999) — Duncan Shepherd
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