What no-one seems to have noticed is how utterly in hock to Orson Welles' "The Trial" this film is, with its very elaborate "artistic" direction, brooding atmosphere of menace and general sense of claustrophobic gloom. Harvey, an actor noted more for his vanity than actual ability (other than that of using well-connected older women to further his career) here sets himself up in full Welles mode: star, producer, director.
In the event, his direction is much the most striking thing about the whole film, because it is for the most part terribly acted - Sarah Miles and Harvey himself in particular - loosely constructed and with the same kind of overly-insistent sub-classical musical soundtrack as "The Trial" (Gerard Schurmann - my one-time neighbour - in this Harvey film, Remo Giazotto's egregious fake Albinoni grinding away in the Welles). Poor old Jack MacGowran and Murray Melvin pop up in weird roles doing their usual schtick - pixillated priest, "sensitive" (i.e. Gay) youth - and Robert Rietty does his usual quadruple duty (as in "The Trial") dubbing voices galore.
But it does have a very definite, albeit second-hand from Welles, look about it, with endless bizarre camera angles and suffocating close-ups. You could even make a case for Robert Walker Jr. Giving a very decent impression of Anthony Perkins' befuddled Josef K. So basically the whole thing's a highly derivative mess: but derived from an actual masterpiece, and sometimes therefore oddly effective almost in spite of itself. Worth a squint.