Jacqueline Susann's potboiler on the cruel and ironic tribulations of the Hollywood crowd -- paraplegia, breast cancer, the treadmill of pill-regulated highs and lows -- is true trash, and Mark Robson's treatment is true tolerance. With a substantial background in movie soap operas, Robson has picked up the domestic virtue of carrying on unflinchingly, self-defensively, in even the most shameful and degrading circumstances. Each of the three main lifelines under scrutiny offers a distinct climate for the spectator, Patty Duke's being foul and brutalizing, Sharon Tate's being perfume-y and inebriating, and Barbara Parkins's being the most middle-class comfortable, and a fine place to finish up, in the picturesque New England winter, with a quizzical Henry Jamesian denouement. Somewhere amid all the gross hysterics, sufferings, and fleeting joys, Lee Grant puts forth a nobly restrained, straightforward display of bitterness, frustration, and superiority. (1967) — Duncan Shepherd
This movie is not currently in theaters.