Anthony Quinn as the ignorant Ah-like-mah-wommen-barefoot-and-pregnant Smokey Mountain Man Redneck buck?
Ahhhhhh, no.
Ingrid Bergman as a mousey Professor's wife driven to sexual roll-in-the-barn-hay abandon in nekked craven lust for the Smokey Mountain Man Redneck buck?
Ahhhhhhh, that's another, no.
Sexual chemistry between Bergman and Anthony Quinn qua actors - Zero.
So you've got two actors mis-cast for their roles and whose personal chemistry is so low that all the "hot scenes" have to be staged in the dark and accompanied by strenuous crescendo's of orchestral music to signal passion-in-process.
Add to that concoction. Another gigantic mis-match of a musical score - we ain't talkin' Appalachian Spring, or even blue grass we're talking Hollywood studio "westerns" orchestral gallops = and it just add insult to injury.
And, last but not least, a preposterous overall production quality that looks more like a toney Napa Valley vineyard party venue shot in glaring blaring over-saturated grand hooray for Hollywood Techi-ni-color than a gray, coal begrimed, hard-scrabble Appalachian town - and, well, the whole thing's just a mash - and not the good kind (i.e., white liquor).
And as for the script - well, Bergman seems to think she's doing a reprise of A Doll's House while Quinn is, of course, doing Zorba the faux Greek goes faux Redneck.
Additionally, there are the little touches - like the randy baby goats Bergman cottons to right away - get it?
Oh well, 'nuff said - this thing's not worth watching.
Ahhhhhh, no.
Ingrid Bergman as a mousey Professor's wife driven to sexual roll-in-the-barn-hay abandon in nekked craven lust for the Smokey Mountain Man Redneck buck?
Ahhhhhhh, that's another, no.
Sexual chemistry between Bergman and Anthony Quinn qua actors - Zero.
So you've got two actors mis-cast for their roles and whose personal chemistry is so low that all the "hot scenes" have to be staged in the dark and accompanied by strenuous crescendo's of orchestral music to signal passion-in-process.
Add to that concoction. Another gigantic mis-match of a musical score - we ain't talkin' Appalachian Spring, or even blue grass we're talking Hollywood studio "westerns" orchestral gallops = and it just add insult to injury.
And, last but not least, a preposterous overall production quality that looks more like a toney Napa Valley vineyard party venue shot in glaring blaring over-saturated grand hooray for Hollywood Techi-ni-color than a gray, coal begrimed, hard-scrabble Appalachian town - and, well, the whole thing's just a mash - and not the good kind (i.e., white liquor).
And as for the script - well, Bergman seems to think she's doing a reprise of A Doll's House while Quinn is, of course, doing Zorba the faux Greek goes faux Redneck.
Additionally, there are the little touches - like the randy baby goats Bergman cottons to right away - get it?
Oh well, 'nuff said - this thing's not worth watching.