Sensational for its casting and pedigree (Tennessee Williams), in its day, and for one of the most brilliantly orchestrated pre-publicity campaigns in film history (the revolvers with the bullets of the other actors' names etched on them?), Time has not been kind.
Beautifully conceived and directed by John Huston, with some additional writing from Mr. Williams to his already complex and difficult script, beautifully photographed by Gabriel Figueroa, the Acting and actors ultimately fail the project.
Except for Deborah Kerr (Hannah), Cyril Delavante (Nonno), and the supporting cast.
Two of the female "stars" are simply not up to the task. The male "star" is so far beyond the task, as Richard Burton nearly always was, that one is left with a remarkable record of yet another of his "vanity" performances.
Sue Lyon was never much of an actress, as witness her virtually non-existent film career outside her "shocking" participation in "Lolita" and "Night of the Iguana." One can't make much of a career playing petulant. Which Natalie Wood and Tuesday Weld and a host of others did better, and earlier, and more convincingly.
An enormous selling point, at the time, for "Night of the Iguana" was the return of Ava Gardner to the screen. In a supposedly "shocking" dramatic role.
Instead, we are forced to watch Miss Gardner, as Maxine, crane her neck, hoisting her chin skyward no matter the scene's context, in order to hide her jowls. Maxine is perhaps the LEAST vain female character in all of Tennessee Williams. Gardner, here, is all about "star" vanity, trying to conceal her "chins."
So is Burton. "Look at me! Aren't I brilliant?" He was a magnificent stage actor with magnificent presence and a magnificent voice. Within the intimacy of film, however, did he EVER disappear inside a character and let us, for even a moment, forget he was a great "actor?" No.
Nor did any of his directors, including John Huston here, once suggest that he "tone it down." By contrast, devour Deborah Kerr's indelible performance as Hannah. Every seemingly subtle nuance is simple, pure and perfectly in character. Her "confession" is unbelievably powerful.
Kerr was a "star." But first she was an actor.
Grayson Hall's harrowing turn as Judith Fellowes is equally brilliant and frightening.
Cyril Delevanti, a hale and hearty older actor, is equally impressive in a largely silent and immobile role as Nonno.
So one is confronted with a beautifully directed and photographed Tennessee Williams play anchored by amazing "supporting" performances that in fact support "stars" who were amateurishly inept (Lyon) or whose aging vanity trumped their acting (Gardner and Burton).
Beautifully conceived and directed by John Huston, with some additional writing from Mr. Williams to his already complex and difficult script, beautifully photographed by Gabriel Figueroa, the Acting and actors ultimately fail the project.
Except for Deborah Kerr (Hannah), Cyril Delavante (Nonno), and the supporting cast.
Two of the female "stars" are simply not up to the task. The male "star" is so far beyond the task, as Richard Burton nearly always was, that one is left with a remarkable record of yet another of his "vanity" performances.
Sue Lyon was never much of an actress, as witness her virtually non-existent film career outside her "shocking" participation in "Lolita" and "Night of the Iguana." One can't make much of a career playing petulant. Which Natalie Wood and Tuesday Weld and a host of others did better, and earlier, and more convincingly.
An enormous selling point, at the time, for "Night of the Iguana" was the return of Ava Gardner to the screen. In a supposedly "shocking" dramatic role.
Instead, we are forced to watch Miss Gardner, as Maxine, crane her neck, hoisting her chin skyward no matter the scene's context, in order to hide her jowls. Maxine is perhaps the LEAST vain female character in all of Tennessee Williams. Gardner, here, is all about "star" vanity, trying to conceal her "chins."
So is Burton. "Look at me! Aren't I brilliant?" He was a magnificent stage actor with magnificent presence and a magnificent voice. Within the intimacy of film, however, did he EVER disappear inside a character and let us, for even a moment, forget he was a great "actor?" No.
Nor did any of his directors, including John Huston here, once suggest that he "tone it down." By contrast, devour Deborah Kerr's indelible performance as Hannah. Every seemingly subtle nuance is simple, pure and perfectly in character. Her "confession" is unbelievably powerful.
Kerr was a "star." But first she was an actor.
Grayson Hall's harrowing turn as Judith Fellowes is equally brilliant and frightening.
Cyril Delevanti, a hale and hearty older actor, is equally impressive in a largely silent and immobile role as Nonno.
So one is confronted with a beautifully directed and photographed Tennessee Williams play anchored by amazing "supporting" performances that in fact support "stars" who were amateurishly inept (Lyon) or whose aging vanity trumped their acting (Gardner and Burton).