And you're not, Joan, in this Gothic 1955 soap. Joan's a Northerner who married into Southern aristocracy and rules the Tara-like mansion with threats, sarcasm, deceit, and in one memorable take, a quite real-looking slap at a prettier young actress. That's Lucy Marlow, who actually has what's probably the lead role in terms of length. But the focus is Joan, Joan, Joan, and while her evil-bitch persona is always entertaining--at this point in her career, she'd determined it was the way her fans wanted to see her, and she wasn't shy about pouring on the acid--it's not a very energetic or convincing movie. The children, for one thing. Aside from the fact that they're at least 20 years too young to be Joan's children (and Tim Hovey is an unusually annoying '50s kid actor), their relationship with the parental units isn't spelled out at all. What's their father (Barry Sullivan)'s attitude toward them, and vice versa? And is the ending meant to be, like, happy? And how are we supposed to feel about Jud (John Ireland)--hero or heel? It's like writer-director Ranald MacDougall just wanted to paste together a medley of evil-Joan moments and didn't really care whether the continuity made any sense. There are some memorable images, though, and a bevy of ugly '50s fashions, and the usual fawning over how lovely La Crawford is even though she isn't. That ought to keep you amused through the lulls.
