The characteristics that made Katharine Hepburn‘s performance in A Delicate Balance work so well do her a disservice here.
Terror and breakdown is hinted at strongly, almost blatantly, but the characters never seem to move an inch past the comfort zone.
Katharine Hepburn is better than I remembered, including making a reasonable attempt at a Southern accent. And, of course, there is distinctive star quality to burn, as well as interpretive intelligence.
What we see here from Strasberg is frustratingly literal and drably conventional—it looks to me like he’s channeling a lot of received wisdom about how Chekhov should be staged and bringing almost nothing of his own to the process.
Tell us: Filth or dementia?
Hasten thee to feed another quarter of conversation for The Talk of the Town!
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