In 1962 this movie may have come to Americans as a revelation about failed dreams. But, as of 2003, it comes across as very heavy handed, and cliche. Every character overacts in presenting their tragic fate, whining about how they were cheated of life by one another.
On the one hand it's the actors who are trying to play roles too big for their britches. Dean Stockwell is particularly inept in his monologue about experiencing life intensely. He is better just playing the role of a wide-eyed kid, without any depth. Jason Robards brings absolutely no character or originality to his depiction of a drunk. Ralph Richardson's character is a ham, so I can't exactly blame him for continuously hamming it up. Still, you'd think he'd have been able to bring a little more depth when his turn at the revealing monologue came. Katharine Hepburn, of course, is completely overwrought throughout the film. I guess this should be excused because the characters are inebriated throughout half the film, but they're not even convincing at that. The characters are just mouthpieces for O'Niel to tell his hard-luck tales, which could be told better by being shown and not just told through monologues.
So the fault of the film does not lie completely in the acting. There are some similarities between Eugene O'Niel's themes and Checkov and Strindberg, but the inferiority of the American playwright is clearly apparent. O'Niel treats the themes of marriage, family, codependancy in a much more superficial manner. The characters that O'Niel dreamt up are also very two dimensional and cliche.
Morphine addiction is also presented inaccurately. Basically, Hepburn winds up acting even more drunk than the other drunks in the movie, and whines and carries on even more than they do. This might have fooled the average moviegoers of 1962, but just winds up looking ridiculous to today's audiences, who are used to much more realistic depictions of opiate use and abuse. The character's shock and upturned noses at "hop heads" and "dope fiends" seem equally ridiculous.
All of this just shows that the movie really isn't about opiate addiction, or even alcoholism (which is what the opiate addiction is dressed up as). It's about wasted lives and being dealt a bum hand (oh no! echoes of the movie's corny slang are creeping in!). Unfortunately, none of these character's lives have been really all that bad. So the movie winds up being, unconsciously, about self-pity. The characters sit around and pity themselves for three hours. I can get an equivalent three hours of whining by hopping over to the corner bar. This is why O'Niel will always be a minor playwright, and another reason for this movie falling on its cliche 1962 behind.
On the one hand it's the actors who are trying to play roles too big for their britches. Dean Stockwell is particularly inept in his monologue about experiencing life intensely. He is better just playing the role of a wide-eyed kid, without any depth. Jason Robards brings absolutely no character or originality to his depiction of a drunk. Ralph Richardson's character is a ham, so I can't exactly blame him for continuously hamming it up. Still, you'd think he'd have been able to bring a little more depth when his turn at the revealing monologue came. Katharine Hepburn, of course, is completely overwrought throughout the film. I guess this should be excused because the characters are inebriated throughout half the film, but they're not even convincing at that. The characters are just mouthpieces for O'Niel to tell his hard-luck tales, which could be told better by being shown and not just told through monologues.
So the fault of the film does not lie completely in the acting. There are some similarities between Eugene O'Niel's themes and Checkov and Strindberg, but the inferiority of the American playwright is clearly apparent. O'Niel treats the themes of marriage, family, codependancy in a much more superficial manner. The characters that O'Niel dreamt up are also very two dimensional and cliche.
Morphine addiction is also presented inaccurately. Basically, Hepburn winds up acting even more drunk than the other drunks in the movie, and whines and carries on even more than they do. This might have fooled the average moviegoers of 1962, but just winds up looking ridiculous to today's audiences, who are used to much more realistic depictions of opiate use and abuse. The character's shock and upturned noses at "hop heads" and "dope fiends" seem equally ridiculous.
All of this just shows that the movie really isn't about opiate addiction, or even alcoholism (which is what the opiate addiction is dressed up as). It's about wasted lives and being dealt a bum hand (oh no! echoes of the movie's corny slang are creeping in!). Unfortunately, none of these character's lives have been really all that bad. So the movie winds up being, unconsciously, about self-pity. The characters sit around and pity themselves for three hours. I can get an equivalent three hours of whining by hopping over to the corner bar. This is why O'Niel will always be a minor playwright, and another reason for this movie falling on its cliche 1962 behind.