Tuesday Weld plays a vulnerable woman – sometimes called Susan and occasionally Noah – who appears to be in a lunatic asylum because she is surrounded by women who talk to themselves, ride hobby horses and stare into space. In fragmented scenes, she seems to operate simultaneously on several levels of time and space.
She has a beau, a nice rich boy played by Philip Proctor, who is in love with her.
Susan/Noah leaves her booby-hatch to move around in a Central Park of her mind where she talks to an old Talmudic magician (Orson Welles) who utters parochial aphorisms in a pish-posh accent, and on a roof where she is endlessly circled by Jack Nicholson, who is either an old boyfriend or an ex-husband or the Spirit of Christmas Past. He’s the one who calls her Noah.
It’s a fantasy which is wildly incoherent or poetically experimental, depending on your tastes, but it gives the impression of having been a labour of love.
There’s a low-budget feel to proceedings, and indeed director Henry Jaglom’s first release was filmed at his parent’s flat, with the cast largely made up of his pals.
Little girl in rowboat