Parky at the Pictures (In Cinemas 20/12/12)

Since adapting Anna Karenina in 1997, director Bernard Rose has turned to Tolstoy on three occasions with actor Danny Huston. Following a reworking of `The Death of Ivan Ilych' as Ivansxtc (2000) and The Kreutzer Sonata (2008) Boxing Day relocates the novella Man and Master to recessional Colorado to show how a ruthless speculator learns a few harsh lessons while seeking to profit from the misery of others

Rising early in Los Angeles on the day after Christmas, property developer Danny Huston scolds wife Lisa Enos for maxing out the credit cards, kisses his two young daughters goodbye and heads into the city for a couple of appointments before flying out to Denver. Banker David Pressler accepts Huston's invitation to a hearty breakfast, but refuses to lend him the money he would need to buy a clutch of foreclosed properties at a fraction of their market value, do them up on the cheap and sell them for quick profit. However, he has more luck with Jo Farkas at the local church, who is duped into signing away charitable donations in return for a vague promise to refurbish the building and incorporate her husband's name to a stained glass window.

Meanwhile, British chauffeur Matthew Jacobs picks up the company hire car and heads to the airport to meet Huston for a day's property viewing. En route, however, Jacobs calls on ex-wife Morgan Walsh to plead with her to waive a restraining order and let him see their children. During the course of the exchange, it emerges that he once cut up her clothes while drunk. But it's never made entirely clear why this outwardly mild-mannered chap is such a pariah and this sketchy approach to characterisation increasingly comes to be one of the film's more fascinating and frustrating aspects.

Despite being nettled by Huston's haughty attitude and inability to remember his name, Jacobs attempts to make conversation as they drive to the first destination. But his chattiness, insistence on playing loud music and struggle to work the satnav system he nicknames Cynthia (voiced by Julie Marcus) irritates Huston, who is trying to catch up with some paperwork. However, for all his chauffeuristic civility, Jacobs is not prepared to be treated like a lackey and hisses a retort when Huston urges him to keep quiet and drive as they pull away from the first property.

Realising he is in for a long day unless he can strike up some sort of rapport with Jacobs, Huston asks him about the schools in the neighbourhood and they start discussing the morality of capitalism. Countering Jacobs's concern that he is a pitiless profiteer exploiting those who have been evicted from their homes, Huston explains that he is trying to kickstart the economy by filling premises that would be wasted if they remained in the clutches of the grasping banks.

They wind up agreeing to disagree, although their views on global warming converge as they grab lunch in skiing country and joke about humanity being a virus afflicting the planet. The bonhomie doesn't last long, however, as Cynthia cannot get a signal in the mountains and they are forced to stop at a gas station to ask for directions. Shop clerk Edie Dakota's map is far from clear, however, and the pair begin to bicker as the light fades and Huston calls Enos to let her know he is going to have to stay overnight.

Stopping off at a roadside bar,  Jacobs quickly becomes smitten with flirtatious barmad Lyne Renee and deeply resents the fact that Huston's patter is far more effective. He tries to win some sympathy by showing her the chip that proves he has been sober for 61 days and monopolise her by buying a hit of oxygen from some coloured vessels on the counter. But while he is restricted by the nasal cannula, Huston and Renee start playing darts and Jacobs has to invent a phone call from Enos to prevent them from canoodling in the back room.

The mood is decidedly tense, as the tipsy Huston returns to the back seat and suggests they press on to the last property. However, progress is slow driving in almost pitch darkness on slippery roads and they inevitably get lost and stuck. Jacobs attempts a rapprochement by offering Huston some barbecue crisps and they decide to make the best of things by sleeping and using the car heater to keep themselves warm. But Huston wakes from a second nap to discover that all the lights are on and the battery has gone flat. Furious with the snoring Jacobs, he strides off into the night with only a torch to light his way and he is pathetically grateful to get back to the vehicle after slipping down an incline and trudging through the deep snow covering the surrounding fields.

The ordeal isn't over yet, however, and Rose handles the denouement with a brisk efficiency that is all the more striking (in spite of the melodramatic swelling of Henryk Gorecki's Symphony No3) for its detachment. Indeed, this deceptive unfussiness typifies Rose's contributions as digital cinematographer, editor and co-composer. But he is less successful in giving Tolstoy's themes a contemporary relevance, with the debates about business ethics and eco politics and the unspoken ruminations on class and sexual envy seeming as laboured as the semi-improvised dialogue. He also fails to establish that Huston would be either avaricious or desperate enough to risk his life on what has long since become a fool's errand. Thus, the climactic sacrifice seems convoluted and feels more like a just dessert than a miraculous moment of redemption.

Best known as the screenwriter of Rose's first feature, Paperhouse (1988), Matthew Jacobs makes a decent fist of his first leading role. But his attempts at light relief are self-consciously fumbling, while Huston never seems sufficiently Scrooge-like for his transformation to appear so unexpectedly dramatic. Yet, despite only raising the odd smile and offering only the occasional insight into credit-crunched America, this does enough to leave one curious to know how Rose and Huston have fared in converting Tolstoy's short story `The Two Hussars' into Two Jacks.

Another expedition to a remote part of the United States is tackled with markedly more ingenuity and wit by debuting director Colin Trevorrow and screenwriter Derek Connolly in Safety Not Guaranteed. Executive produced by Mark and Jay Duplass and featuring a cameo from Lynn Shelton, this provides further proof of the growing maturation of Mumblecore. It's hard to believe that a decade has passed since Andrew Bujalski launched this distinctive brand of offbeat naturalism with Funny Ha Ha and it is a source of much regret that only a fraction of the titles produced in a similar vein have secured UK distribution. But this tale of time-travelling misfits has the potential to be as popular as Alex Holdridge's charming LA romcom, In Search of a Midnight Kiss (2007).

Despite widowed father Jeff Garlin reassuring her that he can cope if she decides to spread her wings, twentysomething Aubrey Plaza continues to live at home because she cannot find a part-time job to fund her unpaid internship at a Seattle magazine edited by bitchy Mary Lynn Rajskub, who treats her like a skivvy. Having soaked her hair in a toilet bowl while replacing the loo roll, Plaza attends the weekly editorial meeting with little enthusiasm. However, when writer Jake Johnson suggests investigating a classified ad for an intrepid time traveller, she finds herself heading up the Washington coast to Ocean View with Johnson and desi geek Karan Soni.

Having spied on the local PO box depot, Plaza and Soni establish that the advert was placed by Mark Duplass, a shelf-stacker at the nearby supermarket who lives in a large house off the beaten track. When Johnson's brash bid to apply for the position ends in abject failure, Plaza is volunteered to befriend Duplass and convince him that she needs to go back in time to right a wrong. At first, Duplass has his misgivings. But Plaza is accepted on proving to be a surprisingly good shot during a rigorous training exercise and on further revealing that she needs to atone for the act of teenage selfishness that was a contributory factor in her mother's fatal car crash. Duplass warns her, however, to be ever vigilant, as he is sure he is being followed by malevolent forces.

Johnson is convinced that Duplass is a crackpot, but is willing to allow Plaza more time to observe him, as his primary reason for suggesting the assignment was to reunite with old college flame, Jenica Bergere, who moved back to her hometown after her marriage to a baseball player collapsed. Initially disappointed by the change in her looks, Johnson is lectured by his companions on judging by appearance and not only enjoys seeing Bergere again, but also quickly comes to crave the cosy home comforts she so readily offers him. Moreover, having witnessed Plaza and Duplass at a campus football game (from which he and Soni are ejected for drinking beer), he teases her that she is getting a crush on her target.

Plaza denies the accusation, but participates in the theft of some lasers from a local laboratory and shortly afterwards become concerned for Duplass when she realises he is being tailed by government agents Tony Doupe and Xola Malik. Following a hilarious 15mph car chase (which is more than matched by the laser heist taking place in the middle of an office birthday party and Duplass being pursued to the getaway van by some mildly curious guests), Duplass decides to bring the mission time forward and shows Plaza the rusting truck in the woods that will serve as their rendezvous point if anything should go wrong in the alternative time zone.

However, the change of plan coincides with Johnson sulking after Bergere turns down his invitation to move to the city and his drunken attempt to make Soni lose his virginity with likely lass Grace Arends. Moreover, he has learned from Rajskub that Kristen Bell, the girl Duplass was going back in time to save from hideous death, is alive and well and Plaza is dispatched to interview her. She reveals that he is a sweet, but deluded guy and Plaza's faith in him is momentarily shaken. But, when she sees him donate his savings to help co-worker William Hall, Jr. pay his wife's medical bills, Plaza realises her feelings for him and vows to make amends when he discovers her true identity.

Making a virtue of its increasingly kooky scenario, this is an endearingly erratic romcom that recovers from meandering moments of uncertainty in the middle section to end, literally, with a bang. Connolly's dialogue is delightful, as are the performances of Plaza and Bergere, who tolerate Duplass and Johnson's amusing shortcomings with differing degrees of success. The Bergere-Johnson subplot is rather left hanging, while Soni is often marginalised, even though he delivers his lines with a guileless pathos that should have been better exploited.

Nevertheless, the cast's commitment to the gleefully far-fetched sci-fi storyline and the gauchely earnest insights into the nature of attraction, fidelity and insecurity eases this crowd-pleaser through its stickier patches. Benjamin Kasulke's Pacific vistas and Trevorrow's confident direction more than help, too, although opinion is likely to be move divided over the song that Duplass sings by campfire light to a zither accompaniment.

The verdict is equally likely to be split over Eran Riklis's Zaytoun, which takes its title from the Arab word for `olive'. As in Cup Final (1991), The Syrian Bride (2004) and Lemon Tree (2008), Riklis suggests that the stand-off between Israel and its Palestinian enclaves is not as implacable as the headlines would have the wider world believe, as, entrenched positions can always be undermined by individual relationships that demonstrate how these warring peoples have more in common than they are willing to acknowledge. Such sentiments could easily be dismissed as romanticised and wildly optimistic. But, even in this often specious buddy-road movie hybrid, Riklis laces the action set in 1982 with enough dark irony and understated realism to ensure that the divisive issues that threaten the peace of the entire Middle East are never glossed or trivialised.

Exiled in Lebanon, 12 year-old Abdallah El Akal lives in the Shatila refugee camp with his father, Jony Arbid, and grandfather, Tarik Kopty. When not being punished for smoking in school, El Akal ventures into Beirut to make a few extra lira selling cigarettes and chewing gum. However, he makes an easy target in his yellow Brazilian football shirt sporting Zico's No10 and he frequently gets chased by Lebanese street vendors or captured by the representatives of the Palestinian Liberation Organisation, who force him and pals Adham Abu Aqel, Eitan Londner and Osamah Khoury into attending terrorist training sessions so they can be ready to fight for their homeland.

One night, shortly after Arbid has explained for the umpteenth time his determination to plant his treasured olive sapling in the soil of his village, he is killed in an Israeli air strike and El Akal adds his name to the list of martyrs he keeps in the back of his exercise book. Soon afterwards, an Israeli F16 crashes outside the city and PLO agents Morad Hasan and Ashraf Farah rush to capture the pilot. They construct a special cell for him in a backstreet shack and listen on the radio as news is broadcast about his plight. Shackled at the ankles and wrists, Stephen Dorff promises that his comrades will find him, but El Akal and his pals laugh when their dog Churchill barks at him in defiance.

El Akal enjoys seeing Dorff behind bars and gloatingly drinks in front of him when he asks for water. But Abu Aqel is softer hearted and he leaves a cup within easy reach and smiles nervously at his enemy. This small act of charity causes Dorff to release his younger brother Londner after he grabs him through the bars as the boys sing a mocking song about Ariel Sharon. However, this assault on his friend provokes El Akal into shooting Dorff in the back of the leg and he has to be rushed to a clinic where he is treated by Abu Agel and Londner's widowed mother, Mira Awad.

Refusing to stay inside the camp, El Akal and Abu Aqel go back into Beirut and, on their way home, risk taking a shortcut through a no man's land guarded by Phalangist snipers. Abu Aqel is shot and Dorff shares Awad's pain when he dies in the night and this show of empathy prompts El Akal into offering to help Dorff escape on the proviso he takes him to his ancestral village so he can plant his father's olive tree. Dorff agrees and is surprised by the ease with which they slip away from his cell. However, he is angry with El Akal for refusing to unlock his wrist manacles and overpowers the boy when he swallows the key and leaves him tied up in an abandoned building. On hailing Loai Nofi's taxi, however, Dorff sees how some PLO gunmen deal with a girl who has become pregnant out of wedlock and rushes back to free El Akal.

He insists on clambering into the back seat, however, and they drive out of the city to the cacophonous accompaniment of Nofi singing along to the Bee Gees disco classic, `Staying Alive'. Willing to take the odd risk because Dorff has promised him a $4000 fare, Nofi drops his passengers off at a checkpoint and agrees to meet them on the other side. As he waits, Dorff and El Akal scramble over rocks and along the beach to avoid both Lebanese patrols and a PLO posse. But they survive the ordeal and even manage to steal a Syrian army jeep when Nofi stops at a remote garage to have his paintwork camouflaged.

They aren't on the road for long, however, as Dorff loses control when the bumpy road jars his injured leg and El Akal has to walk into the nearest town (and run the gamut of another PLO search party) to get the herbs he knows from his terrorist training will salve the wound. Dorff's gratitude is short-lived, however, as El Akal forgets to put the handbrake on the jeep after they push it back on the road and it runs downhill and overturns. But they realise their survival depends on co-operation and they even manage a smile when they find a donkey to carry them for a few miles and Dorff finally gets the key to unlock his chains.

Trudging through spectacularly beautiful scenery, the pair get close to the border to have a celebratory kickabout with the ball that El Akal had packed along with his father's tree. Naturally, El Akal strays into a minefield and he sends Dorff back for the sapling after they have picked a path to relative safety. But they reach the UN base without further mishap and Dorff is reunited with his compatriots. However, his superiors refuse to allow him to escort El Akal to his village and hand him over to French UNRAA doctor Alice Taglioni. She finds him some clean clothing and tries to reassure him that he will be better off with his grandfather. But Dorff cannot bear to let the boy down after all they have been through and steals a vehicle so they can go in search of a village that has long been wiped off Israeli maps.

More by luck than judgement, they find the place and El Akal gets to open the front door of the family home with the key he has been wearing around his neck. He stands on the roof and breathes in the air of history and freedom and, as night falls, he even gets to confirm Kopty and Arbid's contention that the stars there are brighter than anywhere else on Earth. Next morning, El Akal plants the tree before being allowed to drive part of the way back to the UN base. Following a farewell hug, El Akal gets into Taglioni's car and a smile gradually replaces the scowl as he realise what he has achieved.

Those familiar with the 1982 Lebanese campaign will know that soon after this story closes, between 760 and 3500 people were massacred in the Sabra and Shatila camps and, the appalling likelihood is that El Akal and Kopty will be among them. This grim supposition makes the ending a little edgier, but Riklis allows the final sequences to come perilously close to being mawkish and simplistic. Indeed, several incidents en route rely on similar contrivance and it is very much to the credit of Dorff and El Akal that the impossible remains so largely plausible.

Riklis is also indebted to cinematographer Dan Laustsen and production designer Yoel Herzberg for achieving the affecting contrasts between Beirut, Shatila and the settlements visited during the journey. Despite its occasional tendency to gush, Cyril Morin's score is also effective. But, for all the polish and good intentions, it's hard to ignore the schematic fabulism of a tale whose hopes are always much higher than its credibility.

Although it's receiving a limited theatrical release before becoming available on DVD on Christmas Eve, John Stockwell's Code Name: Geronimo is likely to be swept away by Kathryn Bigelow's award-winning Zero Dark Thirty, which offers an alternative account of the assassination of Osama Bin Laden. Shown on the National Geographic Channel under the title SEAL Team Six: The Raid on Osama Bin Laden, Code Name Geronimo caused something of a ruckus in American when its scheduling led to accusations that it was tantamount to a party election broadcast for President Barack Obama and the Democrats. However, there is no such controversy to help this lacklustre actioner make the headlines in this country and it seems set to vanish almost as quickly as it appeared.

Peppered with captions detailing times and places in Pakistan and the United States during the spring of 2011 , this handheld, choppily edited chronicle of Operation Neptune Spear clearly owes much to the likes of 24, Homeland and The Unit. However, the lumpenness of Kendall Lampkin's script means that this ham-fisted espionage procedural-cum-actioner often falls well short of the standards set by such shows. Budgetary limitations might justify the smallish scale of the production, but fewer excuses can be made for the reliance on caricature in both the corridors of power and the boot camp dormitories and it is unforgivable that several instances of casual racism have been allowed to remain in the British release version.

The opening scene is set in a Polish rendition cell and shows interrogator Mo Gallini using threates of Saudi recrimination to persuade suspect Suhail Dabbach into betraying the key name that enables Pakistani agents Rajesh Shringarpore and Maninder Singh follow a vehicle through the crowded streets to the compound in Abbottabad that CIA analyst Kathleen Robertson is confident is housing the leader of al-Qaeda. Watching every second of the pursuit via satellite surveillanc and CCTV links, Robertson reports her findings to superior William Fichtner, whose judgement is clouded by the equal certitude of Eddie Kaye Thomas that Bin Laden would not be in such a busy garrison town.

The concern that the Pakistani military and/or government might be complicit in hiding Bin Laden complicates the issue. So, Shringarpore and Singh rent a flat in a building opposite the compound and keep a 24-hour watch on the various comings and goings, while also hoping to snatch a photograph of their target in the courtyard or at a window. Meanwhile, Robertson and Thomas keep bickering about who is more likely to be right, while Fichtner knits his brow before, during and after telephone exchanges with CIA Director Leon Panetta.

Just in case intelligence comes through confirming Bin Laden's whereabouts, a Navy SEAL unit under Lieutenant Commander Robert Knepper is scrambled for special training. Anson Mount, Freddy Rodríguez, Alvin 'Xzibit' Joiner and Kenneth Miller revel in the challenge and camaraderie. But leader Cam Gigandet is still stressed at after discovering wife Jenny Gabrielle's infidelity and, while the rest of the crew have webcam chats with their loved ones, he is left facing a blank screen. Inevitably, Gigandet discovers that Gabrielle has been sleeping with Mount and they are ticked off by Knepper when he catches them in the midst of a wrestling match.

Back in Virginia, Thomas is poring over footage obtained by Doctor Harsh Chhaya (who had been sent into the compound to gather DNA samples under the pretence of inoculating occupants against Hepatitis B) when he notices that one of the guards is carrying the same rifle that had been propped up behind Bin Laden during one of his video messages. This is the evidence the White House has been waiting for and the mission to eliminate `Geronimo' is given the green light. Robertson and Thomas allow themselves a moment of triumph before taking their places in the Ops room to watch events unfold via computer feeds.

Everyone will be aware how the raid turns out and, thus, the movie is robbed of any possible suspense. However, Paul Haslinger's score proves suitably propulsive, while editor Ben Callahan does a decent job of cutting rapidly between jerky imagery shot by Peter Holland to resemble footage captured by helmet cameras. But this technical proficiency fails to disguise the flaws in an otherwise uninspired piece of work. Stockwell's direction lacks urgency, while the performances of spooks and troops alike are hamstrung by the thinness of the characterisation and the resort to clichés that were hoary when they first appeared in Second World War flagwavers.

The subplot involving Gigandet, Mount and Gabrielle cynically bids to inject some human interest drama into proceedings, while little or no attention is paid to the risks that were taken by Shringarpore, Singh and Chhaya, who are respectively playing Waseem Kuresh, Malik Khan and Shakil Afridi. Indeed, mention of their subsequent arrest by the Pakistani authorities for their part in the attack is restricted to captions beneath inset reconstructions shown during the final credit crawl. These reveal how Washington withdrew $1 million of aid for each of the 33 years to which Afridi was sentenced for `anti-state' activity and how Kuresh and Khan face the death penalty if they are convicted of treason. Yet, curiously, the given names of the latter pair don't register on any Bin Laden-related Google search. Perhaps someone might like to explain why?

Finally, Robert Aldrich's gleefully hysterical slice of Grand Guiglol, What Ever Happened To Baby Jane? (1962), is back in cinemas so that a new generation can witness Bette Davis and Joan Crawford trading in the reputations they had worked so hard to acquire over four decades on stage and screen for one last moment in the spotlight. Neither woman had shied away from the challenge of playing unsympathetic characters during their careers. Indeed, nearly all of the roles for which Davis received her 10 Oscar nominations involved heartless scheming of some kind and Jane Hudson was probably the most recklessly ruthless hellion of them all. Yet, while this savage study of simmering showbiz resentment is often grimly hilarious, it's still sad to see such revered screen icons resorting to pantomimics that were so grotesque that Dawn French and Jennifer Saunders struggled to make them seem more ridiculous in their celebrated 1990 parody.

Back in 1917, Baby Jane Hudson (Julie Allred) was the biggest child star in vaudeville. Adoring crowds turned out everywhere she went and sales of the souvenir `Baby Jane' doll shot through the roof. Younger sister Blanche (Gina Gillespie) was deeply jealous of her success and resented the manner in which she manipulated their weak, but grasping father, Ray (Dave Willock). By 1935, however, the roles had been reversed, with Blanche becoming a major movie star, while Jane sought alcoholic solace from her spectacular decline. One night, though, a car crash impacted upon both siblings and Aldrich archly stops us seeing who was behind the wheel and who was crushed against the gate of her Hollywood mansion.

Now in the present, Jane and the wheelchair-bound Blanche live together in a shambolic home that was once supposed to have belonged to Rudolph Valentino and is kept reasonably presentable by hard-pressed cleaner Elvira Stitt (Maidie Norman). Neighbour Mrs Bates (Anna Lee) and her daughter Liza (Barbara Merrill) pay the sisters no heed and they spend their days with Jane letting Blanche know how much of a trial it is caring for her, while she stays in her room watching re-runs of her old movies on television. Caked in heavy make-up and usually at least one sheet to the wind, Jane is so abusive towards Blanche that Elvira fears for her safety and warns her that Jane has been reading her mail.

Knowing that Blanche intends selling the house and fearing that she will be placed in an institution, Jane kills her sibling's treasured parakeet and serves it to her for lunch. She also places an advertisement for an accompanist, as she intends supporting herself by making a comeback and takes a stab at singing her signature tune, `I've Written a Letter to Daddy' before crumbling in despair at how cruel time has been to her.

Convinced Jane means her harm, Blanche throws a scribbled message out of her window in the hope Mrs Bates will see it. But Jane picks it up and pays her back by serving Blanche a dead rat for supper. The following day, Edwin Flagg (Victor Buono) presents himself to Jane as her new pianist and she is so delighted with him that she insists on driving him home to his mother (Marjorie Bennett). In her sister's absence, Blanche struggles down the grand staircase and discovers that Jane has been signing cheques in her name. She tries to call the doctor for help, but Jane returns to reassure him that everything is fine and she punishes Blanche by binding and gagging her in her room.

When Elvira finds Blanche the following morning, Jane caves in her head with a hammer and disposes of her body. She lies to the police investigating Elvira's disappearance, but cannot prevent Edwin from learning what has been happening from the traumatised Blanche. However, as he dashes off to fetch help, Jane bundles Blanche into the car and heads for the beach, where the truth about the accident 25 years before finally emerges and the cops arrive just as Jane skips off to fetch ice-cream.

Adapted by Lukas Heller from a Henry Farrell novel, this is one of the most unflinching exposés of the Tinseltown myth ever committed to celluloid. Broodingly photographed in stark monochrome by Ernest Haller, William Glasgow's interiors reinforce the aura of faded glamour and shrieking desperation that is outlandishly reinforced by Monty Westmore's make-up. But it is the manner in which Aldrich plays upon the real-life feud between Crawford and Davis that gives this wonderfully wild melodrama its authenticity and ghoulish fascination.

Giving perhaps the most courageous performance of her entire career, Davis succeeds in becoming the more tragic of the sisters, as she struggles with her addiction, stellar delusions and festering resentment of Blanche, which was exacerbated by the mid-30s smash she was too drunk to recall with any clarity. Moreover, she proves herself to be far the superior actress, as Crawford struggles to invest Blanche with any sense of pathos or imperilment that might have made her seem more than a self-pitying victim. The sequence in which Jane reverts to her juvenile self to sing her winsome ditty is excruciating and it's impossible to think of any other Golden Age siren capable of delivering it with the same disconcerting mix of heartbreaking poignancy and macabre monstrosity.

Recouping its costs within three weeks of its release, Baby Jane has always been hailed as a `camp classic'. But there was nothing affected about the rivalry between the stars. Indeed, when Davis was nominated for Best Actress, Crawford contacted New York-based contenders Katharine Hepburn, Geraldine Page and Anne Bancroft and offered to collect the Oscar if they were unable to attend the ceremony and took great delight in accepting on behalf of Anne Bancroft for The Miracle Worker.

In the circumstances, Davis could almost be forgiven for bullying Crawford so unmercifully during the Louisiana location shoot of Aldrich's Hush...Hush, Sweet Charlotte (1964) that Crawford had to be replaced by Olivia De Havilland after she delayed over-long her return from a spell in hospital for a bout of stress that many believe (probably correctly) was largely feigned. Crawford never forgave her director, accusing him of being `a man who loves evil, horrendous, vile things'. She might have had a point, but he gave her the last juicy role of her illustrious, if often troubled career, and she only had herself to blame for not seizing it as untimorously as her co-star.