at 91 minutes, its easily an hour-and-a-half too long
This may be the perfect movie for neurotic, masochistic women, recounting one self-indulgent writer's "vacation from feminism" in sunny Mexico, where the search for some clue to her identity leads only to a succession of virile Mexican boys half her age. Canadian actress Jackie Burroughs portrays expatriate New Yorker Maryse Holder by quoting her explicit, confessional letters in beatnik monologues spoken directly to the camera (a random sample: "cycles of vengeance, cycles of revenge, motorcycles of despair "), but exactly who this woman is or what she's after is never made clear: is she rebelling against her advancing age, or simply looking for Señor Goodbar? Burroughs can be an intense performer, and the film may well capture the essence of Holder's narcissistic lifestyle, but the sad truth is that she wasn't a particularly talented writer ("vomit seems to be my metaphor", she admits, with stunning candor, at one point), and the film wallows in self-pity and self-importance. Five people, including Burroughs herself, share the director's credit, possibly because no one to take full responsibility for it.
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