designated A Bedroom with a Fire Burning and a Woman Reading to a Man Lying on a Sofa at the Tate, let alone a point-of-no-return instance like Pietro Longhi's pictured intonation of Extreme Unction.
Unfortunately, the venture was too lumberingly
huge, and Boydell lost his shirt before it had nearly reached completion.
Its grainy dystopian vision looks good, but, fuelled by portentous political science babble the lumberingly
slow narrative resists any attempt to engage while Robbins and Morton (still wearing her Minority Report shorn waif look) fail to spark the necessary erotic chemistry to lift the love story beyond the yawningly formulaic.