This is a very slow paced film about a grandmother (Angela Lansbury) who spends all her time thinking about the past, and beating herself up for how selfish and greedy her children turned out. The writing is stilted and artificial, like little polished speeches rather than dialogue. It feels as if lifted from pop-psychology books. Nothing much actually happens except some soulful hugs and a lot of complaining.
There are scenes involving sea shells which are supposed to be cosmically significant. It reminds me of the kinds of films my friends made as teenagers full of Deep Inner Meaning.
The adult children are like the rude aristocratic brats lifted from an Agatha Christie novel. It has a non-believable too-happy ending.
There are scenes involving sea shells which are supposed to be cosmically significant. It reminds me of the kinds of films my friends made as teenagers full of Deep Inner Meaning.
The adult children are like the rude aristocratic brats lifted from an Agatha Christie novel. It has a non-believable too-happy ending.