The opening shot of a train entering a tunnel -- the sexual symbol that passeth no one's understanding -- does much to lower whatever expectations you can muster up for a late-period Fellini film. The subsequent spectacle of Marcello Mastroianni milling around at a radical feminist convention with the look of a penniless waif in a candy store, and the blizzard of lines that invite the audience either to applaud or hiss according to preference, give the film the vague air of actually being About Something -- besides, of course, Fellini's famous ability to stage production numbers. But what that Something might be is ultimately lost in the elaborate exercise of that ability. (1980) — Duncan Shepherd
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