Daddy

What began as a documentary on sculptress Niki de St Phalle finished up as a fantasy about a woman's attempts to exorcise the influence of her sexually domineering father. It provides an excuse for a whole ragbag of Freudian neuroses, six-foot phalluses in coffins, nubile girls in nun's habits stripping in front of altars, masturbation, some obvious jokes, pretty photography, abysmal acting, and a commentary that reads and sounds like a Home Service children's story for adults. Still, with father looking like a hangover from vaudeville and mother coming on like Jean Harlow, along with a laughably insistent piano score thumping away in the background, any girl would have her problems.