Burt Lancaster splishes across the pools of various old mates, his life unravelling in a cod-symbolic manner all the while. One of those films that shrouds itself in its own enigma so proudly you begin to wonder if there’s anything much actually going on in there apart from a load of languid shots of the ulcerous one towelling down his rippling muscles, looking shirty at barbecues and, er, impersonating a horse.
