John Schlesinger's film of Nathanael West's probably-unfilmmable book about early Hollywood has some amazing set-pieces, but as a whole it doesn't quite work. The depiction of day-to-day life in 1930s Los Angeles, the collapse of a movie-set during filming, and any scene involving desperate, pathetic ex-vaudevillian Burgess Meredith are vibrant, scary and real. However, the frenzied climax (done up as a surreal nightmare) is pretentious, and Karen Black struggles with her role as a Hollywood hopeful. William Atherton as a burgeoning art director and Donald Sutherland as a shy milquetoast are not able to contribute much, and the pacing is so slow it's difficult to stay involved with what's happening. At first I thought the picture looked exactly right, but as the movie wore on, I began to get impatient with the too-careful design of the thing (and Conrad Hall's washed-out cinematography seems glassy, though the esteemed Hall did receive an Oscar nomination for his work). Many good moments in search of a masterpiece, but "The Day of the Locust" is ultimately a misfire. **1/2 from ****
Review of The Day of the Locust
