Yawn. Poorly Filmed Snooze Fest.

Too much of everything

Powerful

The story, direction, characters, and writing/dialogue is akin to taking a tranquilizer shot to the neck, but everything else was so well done.

Made during Jules Dassin's exile days, the follow-up of NEVER ON Sunday (1960), which catapulted his wife Ms. Mercouri into international stardom, PHAEDRA is a modern transposition of Euripides' HIPPOLYTUS, a stigmatized love affair between a woman and her stepson. Phaedra (Mercouri) is the second wife of Greek shipping tycoon Thanos (Vallone), her life couldn't be more perfect, she is born with a silver spoon in her mouth, Thanos is swept off his feet by her and they have a young son, and their family business is in full swing. The film's opening is a pageantry of baptizing a new vessel named after her, and she is extolled as a woman who can lay claim to whatever she wants, so it is quite surprising to find out that her downward spiral is entirely devoid of extraneous scheming, the green-eyed monster from the outside world has no say-so here, it is her wayward passion, becomes her own unmaking, because in the realm of dramaturgy, the equilibrium of perfection is destined to be violated, trampled and disintegrated to hit that high mark of pathos, which leads her to fall for Alexis (Perkins), Thanos' adult son from his first marriage, a nail in the coffin of that damned perfect life. Rotating between a virile Thanos and a swishy Alexis (a casting decision really make Phaedra's choice a feeble one), Phaedra is defenseless when facing the latter's childishness and impressionability, a maternal affinity soon shifts into a lust for carnality, Dassin's visual tack makes sure their liaison is a clash between fire and water in its literal meanings, and after the knee-jerking defense mechanism of staying away from each other, it is Phaedra who throws in the towel to the gnawing temptation and calls Alexis to Greece, apparently at the earnest behest of the unsuspected Thanos, where the drama takes its biblical toll to the ill-fated pair. The signs of tragedy are everywhere, from their first meeting in the British museum, to the arrival of the "coffin"-shaped present, till the tidings of the shipwreck of Phaedra's namesake, and the central triumvirate does beaver away in the fashion of cothurnus. Mercouri, emblazoned by Dior's haute couture, turns head with her mature appeal, pronounced confidence, simmering petulance and husky voice, a feisty defiance of the industry's inveterate ageism (a fringe benefit of marrying a named film director), but it is her ardent expressions of jealousy, condemnation and self- destruction (with those oceanic eyes!) lingers longer in retrospect. Perkins, on the other hand, doesn't strike gold in a role which should have been exuding with irresistible charm and sexual prowess, but his final ranting is pretty awesome to watch, when they are both embracing their quietus, the man crashes with blistering velocity and the woman withers in immobility. The Italian matinée star Raf Vallone, who is also in the pink with his affable if sometimes condescending mannerism as the two-timed Thanos, becomes most impressive when he receives his double- whammy in the climax, aggressively violent but also authentically heartbroken, that's all catnips for drama addicts. PHAEDRA, heavy on its dark and contentious mythos while light on the rationalism and finesse, is a gorgeous artifact made with ambition and tact, and bears witness to Dassin's maturing into an adroit dramatist, riding high with a great Ancient Greek tragedy, ironically, the film didn't fare well upon its initial release in USA, and 55 years later, its artistry beautifully holds sway to bewitch new spectators.

Hold on to your seats---I am about to say something rather mean. Although Melina Mercouri often played sexy ladies in the 1960s, I always thought she was highly...well...not sexy (I am trying to be nice here). So, seeing her as a super-desirable vixen in a film like "Phaedra" has its work cut out for it, as I just found this aspect of the film very difficult to believe (Anthony Perkins was far more believable in his role of a heterosexual in this film). Apparently once again, the fine director, Jules Dassin, felt compelled to put his girlfriend (and later, wife) in such a leading role. I know it's all rather nasty...but I couldn't help but think this as this classical story was retold. However, despite all this, the film was, at times, very sexy--showing the director did have a lot of skill (Dassin made several amazingly good films during his great career).Like various ancient versions of "Phaedra", the story is about a young man falling in love with his step-mother. In this film, this didn't quite work, as the pair seemed to very inexplicably fall for each other--and way too quickly. In some of the classical versions, the pair was cursed by the gods--and that is why they fell madly in love. I think this latter way of writing the story actually works a lot better and makes this mad love seem more convincing. The sour note was the ending--Anthony Perkins seemed to overact a bit at the very end. Otherwise, an interesting reinterpretation of the old story--and worth seeing.

Saw Phaedra as a teen in 1962 and have been haunted by the final scenes ever since; specifically, the organ music piece playing as Perkins drives the car. What is that piece, ie, BWV# of that Bach music? I have been trying to re-hear that for many years. Anybody know? Many thnx for an answer.The chariot/car was an Aston-Martin DB3, one of the few credible British critiques of/responses to Enzo Ferrari's exuberant creations of that era. Sean Connery's James Bond drove a DB5, iirc.Of course, Melina Mercouri was totally hot to an early 60s male teen, with a proper can on her, unlike today's androgynous anorexic sylphs...(superfluous lines added to fulfill commenting requirements)

Updated Greek tragedy, coated with a decadent touch of Hollywood and memories of old Joan Crawford movies. Glittering locales highlight this melodrama about a Greek shipping magnate who needs his estranged 24-year-old son to complete a business merger; he asks his second wife to fly out to England and talk sensibly to the boy, but instead, a flirtation develops between step-mother and step-son. After a sequence of indescribably lusty lovemaking, the wife calls off the affair--but just as quickly changes her mind, spiraling into obsessive love for the young stud. The film's beautiful visuals are such a pleasure to take in, it is almost easy to overlook the movie's main flaw: that lazily-rich and chic Melina Mercouri would never turn away her powerful, handsome, adoring husband for this kid, a ne'er-do-well artist and economics school drop-out! That being said, Anthony Perkins does the step-son role justice; although he keeps his mouth too tight (in a grimace) and his eyes continually dart around like Norman Bates, Perkins has a charming ambiance here (especially in the early part of the picture)--a boyish nervousness which suits the film just fine. As Mercouri's hairy-chested husband, Raf Vallone seems more Melina's type, yet she turns away from him like a frigid housewife. It doesn't quite play, however each actor handles the escalating tensions of the plot with surprising seriousness, leading to a tragic finale which really appears heartfelt. An emotional roller-coaster, "Phaedra" is gorgeously shot by Jacques Natteau, blissfully scored by Mikis Theodorakis, and soap fans should eat it up. *** from ****