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An entertaining but overwrought exercise in American Baroque, the best way to describe this film is to say that it begins in David Lynch territory, rambles through Tennessee Williams country, and was last seen heading dangerously close to Waltons Mountain. Set in Texas in the late 1960s, the plot - dark secrets emerge when a family gathers for a family funeral - is hardly original, and while the Texan self-image comes in for some welcome satire, the cosy self-satisfied way in which the whole thing is tied up at the end would have a serious dramatist like Tennessee Williams spinning in his grave. Martin Sheen is much too decent to play the wicked old patriarch, and while any film that includes Joanne Whalley, ear-sucking, and camels can't be entirely bad, this is not a good advertisement for any of them.
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