Self-employed typist Joan Crawford gets more than chicken salad when she decides to treat herself to a post-concert snack. The only empty seat is in her booth, and Cliff Robertson wants to sit there. Proper down to her white gloves, she rather frostily discourages him, but he's not one to take a hint. She thaws a bit, and he walks her back to her shabby-genteel courtyard bungalow. Next they're spending afternoons at the beach and evenings at the movies.
Still Crawford, who missed several marital boats while caring for her invalid father and has resigned herself to spinsterhood, encourages him to date women more his `age' (at the time of filming, Crawford was 52, Robertson 31). But she succumbs to his persistence and marries him in Mexico. Soon, however, she catches him in little white lies, some of which turn out to be not so little, such as the fact that he was married before, to Vera Miles, and that his supposedly dead father (Lorne Green) is very much alive.
When confronted with the truth, Robertson goes wacko, sobbing in the bedroom for days on end or smashing Crawford's hand with her typewriter (he was aiming for her head). The men in white coats come to take him off for a restful spell of electro-shock treatments, while Crawford is left to deal with the ugly secrets from his past, involving his ex-wife and his father....
Autumn Leaves (Nat King Cole sings the title song) is a women's weeper, not the sort of movie associated with Robert Aldrich especially not hot on the heels of Kiss Me Deadly and The Big Knife. And though he tries to play up Robertson's mental instability and the dirty duplicity of Green and Miles, he fails. Not only is the material too sodden, he's up against long-suffering victim Joan Crawford, who had all but patented this kind of role. She inevitably prevails, as she always would (at least until Aldrich next directed her, in What Ever Happened to Baby Jane). That memorable turn aside, she had but one `top movie' (The Story of Esther Costello) to go before she sank into also-starring roles and shockfests like Strait Jacket, Berserk! and Trog. But Autumn Leaves marks the beginning of her decline.
Still Crawford, who missed several marital boats while caring for her invalid father and has resigned herself to spinsterhood, encourages him to date women more his `age' (at the time of filming, Crawford was 52, Robertson 31). But she succumbs to his persistence and marries him in Mexico. Soon, however, she catches him in little white lies, some of which turn out to be not so little, such as the fact that he was married before, to Vera Miles, and that his supposedly dead father (Lorne Green) is very much alive.
When confronted with the truth, Robertson goes wacko, sobbing in the bedroom for days on end or smashing Crawford's hand with her typewriter (he was aiming for her head). The men in white coats come to take him off for a restful spell of electro-shock treatments, while Crawford is left to deal with the ugly secrets from his past, involving his ex-wife and his father....
Autumn Leaves (Nat King Cole sings the title song) is a women's weeper, not the sort of movie associated with Robert Aldrich especially not hot on the heels of Kiss Me Deadly and The Big Knife. And though he tries to play up Robertson's mental instability and the dirty duplicity of Green and Miles, he fails. Not only is the material too sodden, he's up against long-suffering victim Joan Crawford, who had all but patented this kind of role. She inevitably prevails, as she always would (at least until Aldrich next directed her, in What Ever Happened to Baby Jane). That memorable turn aside, she had but one `top movie' (The Story of Esther Costello) to go before she sank into also-starring roles and shockfests like Strait Jacket, Berserk! and Trog. But Autumn Leaves marks the beginning of her decline.