The dialogue and social observation in this movie seem more intelligent and pointed than in Sirk's three other big technicolor successes, but the movie cops out at the end with yet another mawkish and overblown ending.
Hunter is well-suited to his role, but it's hard to see why his character would be attracted to Wyman's. Sure, she's a capable actress, but she projects no persona or spark -- instead, she's a well-bred, sympathetic, reasonably intelligent woman of conventional spirit and somewhat dowdy appearance, despite her expensive clothes. Hunter brags that she has great legs, but we never see them.
It's ironic to see Frank Skinner credited with "original music", since his one big melody, repeatedly used to symbolize domestic bliss at the old mill, is an uncredited outright steal of a poignant theme from the finale of Brahms' 4th symphony.
Cinematography and lighting are predictably virtuosic, but there's also some bizarre lighting in crucial a bedroom scene between Wyman and her daughter, with the daughter's face alternating between red, green, and heavily shadowed in an awkward way.
Sirk was a wickedly adept commentator on affluent American suburban mores of the 1950s, but ultimately the presumed tastes of his '50s audiences dictated sentimental cop-outs at the end of most of his films. A fine 4/5ths of a movie, undermined by an all-too-easy "resolution".
Hunter is well-suited to his role, but it's hard to see why his character would be attracted to Wyman's. Sure, she's a capable actress, but she projects no persona or spark -- instead, she's a well-bred, sympathetic, reasonably intelligent woman of conventional spirit and somewhat dowdy appearance, despite her expensive clothes. Hunter brags that she has great legs, but we never see them.
It's ironic to see Frank Skinner credited with "original music", since his one big melody, repeatedly used to symbolize domestic bliss at the old mill, is an uncredited outright steal of a poignant theme from the finale of Brahms' 4th symphony.
Cinematography and lighting are predictably virtuosic, but there's also some bizarre lighting in crucial a bedroom scene between Wyman and her daughter, with the daughter's face alternating between red, green, and heavily shadowed in an awkward way.
Sirk was a wickedly adept commentator on affluent American suburban mores of the 1950s, but ultimately the presumed tastes of his '50s audiences dictated sentimental cop-outs at the end of most of his films. A fine 4/5ths of a movie, undermined by an all-too-easy "resolution".