This film kept me on the edge of my seat the whole time. Mainly out of anxiety for its odd badness. Everything about it felt like a stiff, stilted one-act play. Dialogue obviously, screechingly at times, forcing its way to that final contortion: the excruciating connection between the 'Lawrence of Arabia' line about not caring that it hurts and the importance of truth in a relationship, and the importance of not caring that it hurts. Somebody thought that was pure genius, and somebody was wrong. Not skillfully written, nor directed, nor acted. Carrie Preston had one or two 'moments.' Heather Raffo was a major annoyance to be overcome in order to be able to stand to view the entire film. WHAT a painful-to-watch dud . . . And I find I DO care that it hurt, enough to take the time to write the review no one else seems willing to write. And warn you. This is inept movie-making.
Review of Vino Veritas
