Ken Russell's outlandish whirling dervish of
existential-navel-contemplation-gone-bad has poor sap William
Hurt indulging in a spot too much isolation, investigating the effects
of human sensory deprivation. It all culminates in Hurt becoming a
Neanderthal man. Gripping in a psychotic, psychedelic way, but
ultimately victim to Russell's trademark formal indulgence, often
trying too hard to be naughty.
