Civilised entertainment from Anthony Asquith and Anatole de Grunwald - the latter also adapted the play, instead of getting their usual collaborator Terence Rattigan to do it. Maybe it would have been a better film had that been done - maybe not.
The plot involves Leslie Caron (very sexy in a not-much role) asking doctor John Robinson to cure her artist husband Dirk Bogarde, even though he's a brat. The doctors debate ethics and so on - much of which is no longer applicable in this day and age (there are still plenty of ethical questions - it's just so specific to its time, though. the barbs don't drive home). I never bought the set-up - there seems to be far too much time for John Robinson to make up his mind. And they never really get at the drama of the situation (i.e. whether a brilliant bastard should take precedence over a dull but decent person) - it's talked about, but you never feel it.
The story is really Robinson's rather than Bogarde's - maybe it would have been a more popular film if the two had swapped roles. Having said that, Bogarde is excellent as a caddish artist (he has another wife waiting for him); he was always good as unsympathetic manipulators, although his death scene goes on and on and on. Caron's part isn't much - when all's said and done she's an enabling doormat.
Excellent support cast including Robert Morley and Felix Aylmer, plus great colour and sets and funny lines. A half-success but not bad.
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