Sunday, Bloody Sunday

Rating:
Summary: Quietly subversive classic
Review: This tale of an unconventional love triangle looks better and better three decades after its release. John Schlesinger's filming of Penelope Gilliatt's screenplay preserves the brilliant performances of Peter Finch and Glenda Jackson, as a man and a woman reluctantly sharing the affections of a another, younger man, Murray Head (whatever happened to him?). What continues to surprise and delight is, most of all, the quiet acknowledgment that different kinds of love can co-exist, each having its own validity, without angst, guilt or retribution. If anything, general cinema has moved backwards since this film in terms of portraying homosexuality and bisexuality in a mature, non-exploitive manner. Ultimately, it's the acting of Finch and Jackson that makes this film, making one regret more than ever their respective death and retirement--in particular, Finch's moving closing speech, made directly to the camera, remains a masterpiece of understated delivery.

Rating:
Summary: LEGENDARY CLASSIC RETAINS ITS POWER.
Review: While I concur with many of the reviews posted here, there is not enough praise bestowed on the sublime Glenda Jackson, who remains the great lost actress of her generation. Though the recipient of two Oscars ("Women In Love", "A Touch of Class") and two other nominations ("Sunday.." and "Hedda"), as well as a criminal snub for the landmark "Stevie", Ms. Jackson seems to be little remembered today. It seems inconceivable now, since in the early Seventies, only Jane Fonda and Vanessa Redgrave could be considered her equals. For me, her Alex in "Sunday, Bloody Sunday" is my favorite of her rich performances. She is conflicted with her obviously unsatisfying affair with her bisexual (and, more importantly, shallow) lover, unfulfilled at her job, and basically adrift, just marking time in her life. The simple, yet powerfully suggestive emotions Jackson offers do much to help us identify strongly with her character. Who hasn't felt that, at times, their life is merely counting days, waiting for weekends which ironically do little to feed our spiritual or emotional needs? And the pattern continues, which to me is what the somewhat cryptic title implies. So much pressure is put on "the weekends" to make us happy that we can easily just wish our lives away, as Alex seems to. Its hard to find the final straw which Alex finds to salvage her life and begin again without this crippling relationship, but Jackson's brilliantly layered performance is a wonder throughout. Mr. Finch received many plaudits and is very respectable, but seems to be playing it safe here. His Dr. Hirsch is supposed to be the emotional, reasonable center of the movie, but Finch is a bit too reserved; the events don't seem to really happen to him at all. He stands curiously to the side, which may have been the author/director/actor's intent, but we don't have enough of the character's back-life for this to register. Murray Head is simply a cipher, which is all that is required, but a pleasant one. And any chance to see the divine Peggy Ashcroft and Bessie Love again is welcome.

When this movie first came out, it had that wonderful aura that many of the pictures of that era did: the essence of the forbidden--the promise that new and undiscovered worlds and situations would be examined that had never been dealt with in film before. I remember the same feeling accompanying "Cries and Whispers", "McCabe and Mrs. Miller", and "Women in Love", movies which have stood the test of time. "Sunday, Bloody Sunday", though not without its flaws, has also held up. Its a perfect time capsule of a certain period of time and change for working-class Londoners still woozy from the Sixties and not anywhere near ready for what would be the Eighties. Its also a remarkable document of a brilliant actress at the height of her estimable powers. Highly recommended.

Rating:
Summary: LEGENDARY CLASSIC RETAINS ITS POWER.
Review: While I concur with many of the reviews posted here, there is not enough praise bestowed on the sublime Glenda Jackson, who remains the great lost actress of her generation. Though the recipient of two Oscars ("Women In Love", "A Touch of Class") and two other nominations ("Sunday.." and "Hedda"), as well as a criminal snub for the landmark "Stevie", Ms. Jackson seems to be little remembered today. It seems inconceivable now, since in the early Seventies, only Jane Fonda and Vanessa Redgrave could be considered her equals. For me, her Alex in "Sunday, Bloody Sunday" is my favorite of her rich performances. She is conflicted with her obviously unsatisfying affair with her bisexual (and, more importantly, shallow) lover, unfulfilled at her job, and basically adrift, just marking time in her life. The simple, yet powerfully suggestive emotions Jackson offers do much to help us identify strongly with her character. Who hasn't felt that, at times, their life is merely counting days, waiting for weekends which ironically do little to feed our spiritual or emotional needs? And the pattern continues, which to me is what the somewhat cryptic title implies. So much pressure is put on "the weekends" to make us happy that we can easily just wish our lives away, as Alex seems to. Its hard to find the final straw which Alex finds to salvage her life and begin again without this crippling relationship, but Jackson's brilliantly layered performance is a wonder throughout. Mr. Finch received many plaudits and is very respectable, but seems to be playing it safe here. His Dr. Hirsch is supposed to be the emotional, reasonable center of the movie, but Finch is a bit too reserved; the events don't seem to really happen to him at all. He stands curiously to the side, which may have been the author/director/actor's intent, but we don't have enough of the character's back-life for this to register. Murray Head is simply a cipher, which is all that is required, but a pleasant one. And any chance to see the divine Peggy Ashcroft and Bessie Love again is welcome.

When this movie first came out, it had that wonderful aura that many of the pictures of that era did: the essence of the forbidden--the promise that new and undiscovered worlds and situations would be examined that had never been dealt with in film before. I remember the same feeling accompanying "Cries and Whispers", "McCabe and Mrs. Miller", and "Women in Love", movies which have stood the test of time. "Sunday, Bloody Sunday", though not without its flaws, has also held up. Its a perfect time capsule of a certain period of time and change for working-class Londoners still woozy from the Sixties and not anywhere near ready for what would be the Eighties. Its also a remarkable document of a brilliant actress at the height of her estimable powers. Highly recommended.