Flowers, their cultivation and arrangement, are only one of the obsessions of the protagonist -- a nice cultured middle-aged man' who, in addition, pays a twentyish model once a week to undress to an aria by Donizetti; who then works off his passions on the church organ across the street; who has an eye (and a caressing hand) for nude statuary; who composes letters to his dead mother and posts them to himself; and who experiences childhood memories in the form of 8mm home movies (albeit rather arty home movies, projected in slow motion). This synthetic character and a whole host of subsidiary ones pile up perversities and eccentricities solely for effect. A Buñuel might have given the thing some ruddy vitality; the Australian director Paul Cox gives it instead a drawing-room pallor. His most aggressive sallies are reserved for the official art world: a life-drawing class presided over by a stern representationalist ("Accuracy is the watchword!"); and a Jackson Pollock-ish action painter in frenzied action. With Norman Kaye and Alyson Best. (1983) — Duncan Shepherd
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