My review was written in February 1991 after watching the film at a Manhattan screening room.
Simon Callow makes an assured feature directing debut adapting Carson McCullers' "The Ballad of the Sad Cafe", a demanding, abstract fable for art audiences. Topliner Vanessa Redgrave' adventurous performance will be in line for acting honors when the Merchant Ivory production debuts at the Berlin Film Festival.
Callow, the distinguished British stage thesp and stager, wrote a book about Charles Laughton, and, in making his film helming bow, has tipped his hat to the atmospheric nature of Laughton's classic film and only directorial assignment, "The Night of the Hunter".
However, where the allegory "Hunter" had an engrossing thriller plotline adapted by James Agee for Davis Grubb's novel, Callow works with an abstract story peopled by strange, other-worldly characters whose motivations and actions often are baffling. Resulting intellectual fil is difficult to respond to and probably will not engage mainstream audiences.
After her bravura assignment for Peter Hall on stage and for tv in Tennessee Williams' "Orpheus Descending", Redgrave has stretched her craft even further in personifying McCullers' character Amelia.
She's a violent, mannish styled woman who threw out her husband (Keith Carradine) on their wedding night and has become a legendary figure in her little Southern town in the '30s. With cropped hair and unglamorous makeup, Redgrave throws herself into the role (created in 1963 by Colleen Dewhurst in Edward Albee's play adaptation) with uncensored force.
Carradine, who replaced Sam Shepard at the start of the film's production las summer in Texas, brings a naturalism to his embittered role as the ex-con and spurned spouse. His direct-sound singing and slide guitar playing adds an extra dimension.
Catalyst in the piece is the fantasy character of Cousin Lymon, a hunchbacked dwarf who pops up out of nowhere claiming to be Redgrave's cousin. That role, a career breakthrough in 1963 for the late Michael Dunn, here is essayed adequately but rather too pathetically by Cork Hubbert.
Hubbert gets Redrave to convert her general store into a cafe, serving the moonshine she prepares at her still. He provides entertainment for the locals with an act combining sleight of hand, singing and jester-like moves.
Tale, told at once and twice removed via embedded flashbacks, takes a dramatic turn when Carradine shows up midway through the pic fresh out of the state pen. He's out to avenge himself against Redgrave while Hubbert ambiguously plays both sides against the middle in this brutal war of the sexes.
Film climaxes memorably in a bare-knuckles boxing match staged at the cafe between Carradine and Redgrave to settle their differences once and for all. The tall actress convincingly holds her own in the contest.
Probably not since Katharine Hepburn achieved mixed results in her oddest role s the backwoods religious fanatic in "Spitfire" in 1934 has an attractive star actress attempted such a primitive, rustic role. Redgrave's body English, strange accent and physical outbursts are a triumph of pure acting.
Carradine's more natural approach brings pic closer to reality. An intense supporting performance by Rod Steiger also provides exposition as the town preacher, since Callow and scenarist Michael Hirst have jettisoned the narration of Albee's play.
However, the relationships here, notably those between alternatively naive and devilish Hbbert and the other principals, are cryptic and at times off-putting. One can easily admire the quality of acting writ large, but it is nearly impossible to relate emotionally to this strange universe. In that respect, Callow is following a recent tradition of such countrymen as Derek Jarman and Peter Greenaway in creating highly rewarding but privated cinemas.
Tech credits are fine, with lensing on a remote little town set originally built by Willie Nelson for one of his films. Walter Lassally's photography captures the stark beauty of the surroundings.
Simon Callow makes an assured feature directing debut adapting Carson McCullers' "The Ballad of the Sad Cafe", a demanding, abstract fable for art audiences. Topliner Vanessa Redgrave' adventurous performance will be in line for acting honors when the Merchant Ivory production debuts at the Berlin Film Festival.
Callow, the distinguished British stage thesp and stager, wrote a book about Charles Laughton, and, in making his film helming bow, has tipped his hat to the atmospheric nature of Laughton's classic film and only directorial assignment, "The Night of the Hunter".
However, where the allegory "Hunter" had an engrossing thriller plotline adapted by James Agee for Davis Grubb's novel, Callow works with an abstract story peopled by strange, other-worldly characters whose motivations and actions often are baffling. Resulting intellectual fil is difficult to respond to and probably will not engage mainstream audiences.
After her bravura assignment for Peter Hall on stage and for tv in Tennessee Williams' "Orpheus Descending", Redgrave has stretched her craft even further in personifying McCullers' character Amelia.
She's a violent, mannish styled woman who threw out her husband (Keith Carradine) on their wedding night and has become a legendary figure in her little Southern town in the '30s. With cropped hair and unglamorous makeup, Redgrave throws herself into the role (created in 1963 by Colleen Dewhurst in Edward Albee's play adaptation) with uncensored force.
Carradine, who replaced Sam Shepard at the start of the film's production las summer in Texas, brings a naturalism to his embittered role as the ex-con and spurned spouse. His direct-sound singing and slide guitar playing adds an extra dimension.
Catalyst in the piece is the fantasy character of Cousin Lymon, a hunchbacked dwarf who pops up out of nowhere claiming to be Redgrave's cousin. That role, a career breakthrough in 1963 for the late Michael Dunn, here is essayed adequately but rather too pathetically by Cork Hubbert.
Hubbert gets Redrave to convert her general store into a cafe, serving the moonshine she prepares at her still. He provides entertainment for the locals with an act combining sleight of hand, singing and jester-like moves.
Tale, told at once and twice removed via embedded flashbacks, takes a dramatic turn when Carradine shows up midway through the pic fresh out of the state pen. He's out to avenge himself against Redgrave while Hubbert ambiguously plays both sides against the middle in this brutal war of the sexes.
Film climaxes memorably in a bare-knuckles boxing match staged at the cafe between Carradine and Redgrave to settle their differences once and for all. The tall actress convincingly holds her own in the contest.
Probably not since Katharine Hepburn achieved mixed results in her oddest role s the backwoods religious fanatic in "Spitfire" in 1934 has an attractive star actress attempted such a primitive, rustic role. Redgrave's body English, strange accent and physical outbursts are a triumph of pure acting.
Carradine's more natural approach brings pic closer to reality. An intense supporting performance by Rod Steiger also provides exposition as the town preacher, since Callow and scenarist Michael Hirst have jettisoned the narration of Albee's play.
However, the relationships here, notably those between alternatively naive and devilish Hbbert and the other principals, are cryptic and at times off-putting. One can easily admire the quality of acting writ large, but it is nearly impossible to relate emotionally to this strange universe. In that respect, Callow is following a recent tradition of such countrymen as Derek Jarman and Peter Greenaway in creating highly rewarding but privated cinemas.
Tech credits are fine, with lensing on a remote little town set originally built by Willie Nelson for one of his films. Walter Lassally's photography captures the stark beauty of the surroundings.