Members of a James Dean fan club reunite, with sad regrets and revealed truths for all. Ed Graczyk freely adapted his own play for the screen, and director Robert Altman (who also helmed the stage production) utilized the intentional phoniness of Garczyk's conception for a blurry-soft, dreamy effect. This interesting technique, coupled with fine key performances, makes the film worth-watching, though it does drag on too long and goes dangerously over-the-top whenever Kathy Bates is center-stage playing a bossy shrew. Sandy Dennis, as Dean-worshipper Mona, never quite deviated from her stammering performance in "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?"; once again, she affects a fluttery, unsure way of addressing people (she's sincere, yet her mind is cluttered up with extraneous thoughts--like a happy schizophrenic). Cher, playing a deflated sexpot, has the least convincing role, but she's game and has a wonderful moment imitating Dennis. Karen Black's mysterious Joanne is the catalyst behind all the sturm and drang; viewed today, the role is a wheeze, yet Black--wry and funny and tragic--is deeply in-tune with the material and does an excellent job. As a cinematic experience, "Jimmy Dean" is bereft of exhilarating highs, and the dreamy quality actually works against it in some instances (it feels like sensory deprivation). However, the film does have intense moments, always underlined by a sense of nostalgia, and it's that sweet feeling of melancholy that puts the movie across. **1/2 from ****