suddenly last summer

Sometimes a movie is made for all the wrong reasons. And that seems to be the case with Suddenly, Last Summer (1959), Joseph L Mankiewicz's film adaptation of the Tennessee Williams one-act play. After the early cinematic success of Streetcar and more recent revival of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, it probably seemed like any Williams’s property was a hot one. Toss in a big name cast including Elizabeth Taylor, Montgomery Clift, and Katharine Hepburn along with a script by Gore Vidal that all-but thumbed its nose at the aging Production Code and you've got a sure-fire success!

Actually, that's true. The film made a tidy profit, scared up some scandals and even earned Oscar nominations for Taylor and Hepburn (who both lost to Simone Signoret, by the way). But from a modern perspective the film is as contrived as any recent superhero saga, pre-manufactured with an insultingly obvious bric-a-brac collection of high profile talent delivering showy monologues so longwinded even the audience runs out of breath.

Dr. Cukrowicz (Clift) specializes in an experimental new brain surgery - lobotomies - working under deplorable conditions in a poorly funded state hospital. But his troubles might be over thanks to a wealthy widow, Violet Venable (Hepburn), who promises a million dollar donation if Cukrowicz will perform the operation on her niece, Catherine (Taylor), currently residing in a mental institution after suffering a violent shock.

The shock turns out to be witnessing the death of Mrs. Venable's son, Sebastian, while on a vacation in Spain, a yearly excursion that the widow shared exclusively with her offspring until he spurned her for a younger model. Cukrowicz senses there's more to the story and pushes for Catherine to spill the beans on exactly how Sebastian met his demise...a fact that Mrs. Venable would prefer stay buried along with her son.

If you'd prefer to experience Mankiewicz's film spoiler-free, you can wrap up the review right there. But the secret at the heart of Suddenly, Last Summer is also its greatest flaw. While homosexuality was still a taboo subject thanks to the censors, Vidal's screenplay turns Sebastian into a predatory child-molester to get around the pushback; and then punishes the character with one of the most brutal off-screen demises you can imagine. And the film has Taylor relate it all to us in a near hysterical split-screen dialogue that sells it like a gothic horror film. But the shock tactic is so clumsy and obvious (there's that word again) that it can help but feel Mankiewicz is selling his audience short...and selling himself out.

Oh, there are some tremendous performances. Hepburn should be commended just for remembering all her lines, which must number at least triple any of her other performances. And, although Taylor gets top billing, her entrance - emerging as if from the heavens in an ornately gated elevator - is only fitting for Hollywood royalty. Speaking of Taylor, she's incredibly lovely here and more than up to the acting challenge. Yet it's Clift, soft-spoken and wide-eyed, who serves as the audience surrogate, providing a serene sense of calm amidst all the swampy, Southern scenery chewing.

Twilight Time's 3000-copy limited edition Blu-ray is another example of the wonders hi-def can work on black-and-white. Jack Hildyard's cinematography looks terrific, breathing some life into the studio-bound sets. Extras include an isolated music & effects track, original theatrical trailer and liner notes.