dragonslayor

Beautifully photographed, poetically narrated, a film that parades flawless female forms each to a background story that ends with the words "... and I learned about women from her." Miles ahead of the pioneering "Erotica" but still in the genre of a narrated Playboy magazine, the parade of pulchritude is nothing short of stunning. Where do these movies go? Put it onto a DVD and let me know where to order it ... vivid memories almost forty years old... a one of kind.

My all-time top-rated film; this one has it all. The characters, not just the leads, are real and substantive. Hackman almost steals the show. Cruise takes you with him as a young comer with the world before him: brains, energy, confidence, a beautiful wife (Tripplehorn, who is gorgeous, sensuous, supportive and yet strongly her own person), and a dream job. Cruise and Tripplehorn sizzle throughout the movie, but never more so than in the penultimate scene when he repeatedly asks "Have I lost you?" Her answer simply melts the heart.

The writing is of course superb, and, although the ending, different from the book, has been criticized, I found it an amazing extrication from a situation which compels the viewer to believe is hopeless. You want the stars to somehow escape their continually worsening plight - both within their personal lives together and with the evil external forces that have ensnared them, and the movie ending does not disappoint.

Disappointing, however are the last few moments, which are disjointed and seem to belong to another movie. It amazes me that something better could not have been done. It could only have been worse had our heros ridden into a sunset to the strumming of a western guitar ...

Lorna Maitland was one of Meyer's rare "finds." Physically stunning but as easily engaged as was the earlier Monroe, one easily fantasizes a personal encounter with her. The river bathing scene, partially obscured by tree branches, makes you her willing voyeur; her eventual passionate response to the convict escapee who rapes her, tells you that you might also have your way with her should you ever somehow meet.

I found the violence in the film to be gratuitous albeit realistic and disturbing; as in Cherry, Harry, and Raquel, a later Meyer (color) film, the viewer is torn from (his) fantasy of passion and plunged into anger and terror. Why Meyer felt he had to mix the two escapes me, but therefore, his films are doubly memorable; along with the river scene, the shotgun blast from under the hood of the old car is equally etched.

Lorna Maitland, like Roberta Pedon of another genre, had a short stay in the limelight; with their early passing, they share a unique, cult-like icon status.