For all those in despair over the quality of language in American films, all those unconvinced that what Sam Shepard writes is "poetry," all those who periodically stretch their arms out at their sides and cry to the heavens in Job-like tones: "Why, oh why, doesn't someone do a definitive screen version of The Glass Menagerie?" -- well, here it is, for all ten or eleven of them. For others, it will only be bearable when John Malkovich (with the delivery of a demented mesmerist) and Joanne Woodward (at a higher octave than usual) leave the screen to just James Naughton and Karen Allen -- not for long. Directed by Paul Newman. (1987) — Duncan Shepherd
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