This may be Kirk Douglas's finest dramatic performance. He's always had a tendency to hog the screen, sometimes effectively, as when, in a moment of epiphany, he silently lets his jaw drops and rolls his eyes heavenward. He does it when trapped in a cave in "The Juggler" and at the end of "Champion" when he stares at his broken hand. But he doesn't pull any tricks here. Maybe Elia Kazan talked to him about it. Kirk turns in a quiet, thoughtful performance of a man going mad because he never fulfilled his father's dreams -- I guess. It's a little confused.
At the opening, we're introduced to Douglas at a meeting of the ad agency he works for. They're marketing a cigarette, Zephyr. Douglas's self-confident presentation of the marketing campaign shows us a hollow man at his job, apparently good at his job and reveling in it. He gets up smiling in the morning, grooms himself wordlessly while his devoted wife, Deborah Kerr, chatters in the background. Then he drives to work and there follows a startling moment. We've all been on freeways in the middle lane, with deafening eighteen-wheelers roaring along indifferently on either side of us, at the same speed. And Douglas, still with a grin painted on his face, folds his arms across his chest and lets the car wander one way or another until, with a savage grimace, he yanks his convertible under one of the trucks.
I'm afraid that from there it's mostly downhill, except for some good performances and nice local color from photographer Robert Surtees.
I won't try to describe the plot. It has something to do with Douglas's self-destructive impulses, his being torn between two women, his conflict with his old-world father, Richard Boone. The film goes into considerable detail.
Kazan has always been an impressively innovative director. There is a scene near the beginning of "Panic in the Streets," involving a murder, that involves some exquisite camera choreography and lasts a long time, all captured in one take. And in "East of Eden" he places the camera almost on the ground, shoots from behind Timothy Carey's legs, as Carey fondles a black jack and tries to tempt James Dean to come a little closer.
The innovations were fresh and were always his own. Not here. They're distinctly derived from the styles and fads of the mid-60s, including some Batman-like ZLONKs and POWs! I suppose they're meant to amuse but they fall with a thud. There's a good deal of instant cutting, of flash forwards, of tableaux of family arguments remembered from childhood while the adult Douglas walks around and pleads with the participants. Woody Allen was doing the same thing.
On top of that, the movie doesn't really make much sense. I'm still not sure how it all winds up. A shame, really. A couple of outstanding performances in a film whose plot resembles the inside of a kaleidoscope or some kind of demonically spinning Archimides spiral. The fact that I can't make up my mind whether the plot resembles a kaleidoscope or a spiral is symptomatic of the damage it left in its path.
At the opening, we're introduced to Douglas at a meeting of the ad agency he works for. They're marketing a cigarette, Zephyr. Douglas's self-confident presentation of the marketing campaign shows us a hollow man at his job, apparently good at his job and reveling in it. He gets up smiling in the morning, grooms himself wordlessly while his devoted wife, Deborah Kerr, chatters in the background. Then he drives to work and there follows a startling moment. We've all been on freeways in the middle lane, with deafening eighteen-wheelers roaring along indifferently on either side of us, at the same speed. And Douglas, still with a grin painted on his face, folds his arms across his chest and lets the car wander one way or another until, with a savage grimace, he yanks his convertible under one of the trucks.
I'm afraid that from there it's mostly downhill, except for some good performances and nice local color from photographer Robert Surtees.
I won't try to describe the plot. It has something to do with Douglas's self-destructive impulses, his being torn between two women, his conflict with his old-world father, Richard Boone. The film goes into considerable detail.
Kazan has always been an impressively innovative director. There is a scene near the beginning of "Panic in the Streets," involving a murder, that involves some exquisite camera choreography and lasts a long time, all captured in one take. And in "East of Eden" he places the camera almost on the ground, shoots from behind Timothy Carey's legs, as Carey fondles a black jack and tries to tempt James Dean to come a little closer.
The innovations were fresh and were always his own. Not here. They're distinctly derived from the styles and fads of the mid-60s, including some Batman-like ZLONKs and POWs! I suppose they're meant to amuse but they fall with a thud. There's a good deal of instant cutting, of flash forwards, of tableaux of family arguments remembered from childhood while the adult Douglas walks around and pleads with the participants. Woody Allen was doing the same thing.
On top of that, the movie doesn't really make much sense. I'm still not sure how it all winds up. A shame, really. A couple of outstanding performances in a film whose plot resembles the inside of a kaleidoscope or some kind of demonically spinning Archimides spiral. The fact that I can't make up my mind whether the plot resembles a kaleidoscope or a spiral is symptomatic of the damage it left in its path.