In a nutshell: Theresa Russell takes an overdose. She’s been shagging Art Garfunkel behind Denholm Elliot’s back. Elliot finds out, and doesn’t much care. Art finds out about Elliot and does. Cue shouting and thrown bottles aplenty. Russell takes an overdose, Art turns up and phones an ambulance, but not before shagging her as she lies about, half-dead. Or does he? Or did she? Or will they? Harvey Keitel to the rescue… Nic Roeg’s usual temporal trickery slices and dices this ripe bit of noir like so much boiled Haslet for the butcher’s window, and the necro undertones so curdled the Rank top brass’s Horlicks they denounced the thing as the product of sick minds and ensured this last hurrah for the company came without the customary gong-bashing muscleman up the front end.