One might be tempted to call Henry Jaglom's directing debut "A Safe Place", which he also wrote (based on material he originally presented on stage in New York), self-indulgent; however, the indulgence here really belongs to the editor, Pieter Bergema. This is a movie 'made' in its editing stages, and either Bergema had too much film to work with or not enough (this might explain the endless close-ups of crying or howling faces, several of them repeated). Tuesday Weld plays a commune-living hippie chick in New York City, on a tightrope between being a woman and wanting to remain a child, who begins a relationship with a drop-out from high society before she has resolved her feelings for former boyfriend Jack Nicholson, who apparently left her for another woman. Jaglom encourages his cast to wing it, and so we're left with lots of rambling, pseudo-introspective monologues about illusion and reality. It's wise not to try and dissect "A Safe Place"--that would be like analyzing a snowflake. There's just not enough real substance here--nor enough real acting--to spark a debate on the film. Orson Welles as a magician (or perhaps Weld's guardian angel) looks like a cross between Jackie Gleason and Oliver Hardy; he has fun doing magic tricks in Central Park, but is mostly used as a shoulder for Weld to lean on. Weld herself is a lovely presence (although this little-girl-lost number was just about played out), and cinematographer Dick Kratina gets some gorgeous shots of her all around the city, but the only genuine acting in the film comes from newcomer Gwen Welles as another hippie who is mesmerized by the non-meaning of her dreams. ** from ****
