A freaky-floaty tumbling-all-the-way-down dream noir, shot in location at *the interzone*. I remember almost nothing specific about this, which is pretty much the highest recommendation for this sort of thing. Sleep deprivation cinema.
Actually thought Dunaway was generally really good— certainly always compelling to watch— and that the onus for her various legendary moments of campy “too muchness” ought be better placed upon the limp filmmaking for failing to mirror her passion.
Really sort of depressingly pointless dramatization though— with no real second level agenda besides uniting Joan’s manic careerism with her alleged child abuse. Probably the peril of adapting this sort of tabloid sensation into a film, i guess.