The mystery element, which doesn't claim our attention until very near the end, has to do with what really happened to Theresa Russell, who spends the length of the movie in a hospital emergency room having her stomach pumped, her throat perforated, her vagina sampled, etc., while we get bits and pieces of the police interrogation of her erstwhile lover (Art Garfunkel) and flashbacks of their love affair arranged in no particular order. In a movie made up predominantly of intimate scenes, some of which attain a rare degree of realism, we ought to find out more than we do about what the attraction is between the two lovers, what they see in one another, indeed what they are like as people, and we should not have to feel there is no recourse, what with all the deliberate contradictions and obfuscations in their behavior, but to file them under the unenlightening label of "love-hate relationship.' Theresa Russell has a powerful, working-girl physicality, consisting of a slightly puffy and pouty face, squarish body, and footsore stance, as well as some good sluttish tricks with her makeup and sticky-looking, peroxide hair, that somehow survives the horrible fuzziness of her role. With Harvey Keitel; directed by Nicolas Roeg. (1980) — Duncan Shepherd
This movie is not currently in theaters.