James Mason dressed to the nines sitting in a hideous high back chair chain smoking and brow beating his pathetic second cousin to play until he turn her into a concert pianist then whisks her off to Europe against her will to endlessly play then she comes back to London and then she is depressed and then she plays some more and then she is still depressed and then she has her portrait painted but gets in a car crash and is paranoid her hands are destroyed but they aren't so they cart her off to the nut house and a psychiatrist opens her up with hypos, hypnosis, records and suddenly she is cured and she loves her cousin who has been mean to her and never makes her smile. This poor thing is a poster child for the psychotic, neurotic, paranoid, weak, sniveling and morose. I kept waiting for a plot and wanted to hit the stop button so many times, but kept in there hoping one would develop. The whole thing is a sloppy melodrama and all gussied up to look intellectual. Its rubbish. I want the wasted time watching this clap trap back.
Review of The Seventh Veil
