The ending certainly felt authentic and true. Generally though "honesty" isn't really much of a praise and the whole thing reminded more of a somewhat clumsily written novella than a poem - the film is talky to boot and the way characters keep bluntly and literal mindedly speaking of how they feel, and psychoanalyzing each other, gets pretty grating (no wonder then that Melvyn Douglas emerges as the sole truly compelling character for he is the only one who seeks to hide his feelings rather than reveal them); just because a film is serious, and about serious things, don't automatically make it a success. And it doesn't help that the direction is pedestrian, with some intrusive, self consciously "arty" flourishes such as the overbaked use of flashbacks and choppy montage which come off as rather misjudged attempts to emulate the French New Wave techniques. They could have also done well to avoid over-accentuating the drama with some overly obvious soundtrack choices. Ultimately, it's mostly the excellent acting by Douglas and, to a lesser degree, Hackman that make sure the movie isn't a total loss (and, despite the largely disagreeable presentation, the writer clearly understands a thing or two about the kinds of relationships he depicts).
"facts are stupid things" Ronald Reagan
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