I'm afraid Streisand's overblown ego defeats this film. Taking what is essentially over-ripe Tennessee William's material, this may have had possibilities. But Streisand's character (and especially the director's fawning to her character (no surprise, since she directed it) makes this an ego journey of immense proportions. I don't know how Nolte survived this and how he crafted such a magnificent performance. I don't know how he managed to mutter the film's last lines ("Lowenstein, Lowenstein.") without breaking into laughter. (My guess...liquor and multiple takes.) Streisand as a performer needed someone to fetter her (she can give good performances when restrained.) Streisand the director needed to keep from falling in love with Lowenstein. (She did very well with the opening...except the titles and cast lists interfered with the story.) At the end, the only impression left is an unsubtle argument for Streisand's greatness. An argument that fails to persuade.
Review of The Prince of Tides
