Lana Turner did a couple of good pictures I suppose, but I always found her utterly superficial and there are few pictures as profoundly superficial as this one. From the trite, dumbass dialogue, to the jaw droppingly ugly swell clothes, the sleepwalking assistance of Ray Milland and the mind numbingly pretentious speechifying...there's a ventriloquist's dummy in the film that arguably gives the best performance, it's certainly every inch as wooden as Turner...there is, at practically every turn, a brick wall in terms of "where are we going with this?" Those who make it to the end will have been bored to the point of screaming, I know I was. Glossy trash of the very highest magnitude.
Review of A Life of Her Own
