"Ash Wednesday" opens with a series of sepia-toned, fabricated photographs putting a young, glamorous Elizabeth Taylor together with a lean, dark-haired Henry Fonda; it's a great credits-sequence, well pulled off, until we find out that all this fancy living has taken its toll on poor Liz, portraying a lawyer's wife from Detroit (couldn't they aim higher than that?). Figuring plastic surgery is the only way to win back her estranged husband's love, Taylor checks into a Swiss medical resort and receives a full-body lift, later trading in her gauze and bandages for Valentino wraps and elaborate fur ensembles for a vacation at the local chalet. There's nothing remotely engaging about this scenario, except to see La Liz in a series of delectable wardrobe changes. We know that when Fonda arrives and sees her, nothing will be different (this is telegraphed far in advance). The picture was probably ahead of its time in depicting the vanity in men as well as in women, but Taylor and Fonda have a tough time creating actual characters (the writing being hardly more than a sketch). Liz has a nice moment asking Fonda to sing with her as they walk home, also a strong scene arguing with her daughter (Margaret Blye, who is well-cast; her eyes are almost as beautiful as Taylor's). But this fairy-tale-that-isn't hasn't much to offer aside from its surface attributes, which are photographed in a maddening series of subdued colors. ** from ****
Review of Ash Wednesday
