Taken from a Beryl Bainbridge novel, this is basically the education of the English Rose by an American Sweet William. She wears bras, uses the term 'queers', and screws on the floors of taxis; he uses lines like 'This is an idyll...They're episodic'. Basically he (Waterston) is supposed to be a loveable, irresistible shit; unfortunately he comes across as neither of the first two, only 100% the last, and herein lies the collapse of the movie. For instead of feeling any sense of identification with the lovers in this 'contemporary romance', the sheer implausibility of their relationship leads to an intense sense of frustration and confusion as to which of the two - him, for being such a self-obsessed bastard, or her (Agutter), for being such a self-destructive ninny - one would most like to strangle.
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