Paul Reynolds and Philip Williamson reminded me of silent film actors in this really quite poignant tale of homosexual longing, lust and pure love all complemented by a Shakesperian narrative consisting of fourteen of his sonnets read, emotively and vibrantly, by Judi Dench. The imagery is often quite disjointed and abstract: inanimate objects frequently imbued with animate traits - all as one man seeks his love, and also an assurance that he is pure enough to deserve and keep it. It lacks pace. At times this is more of a collage of loosely related scenes rather than a continuing storyline and it is certainly self-indulgent - not a criticism that could be laid unfairly at most Derek Jarman works, I find. That said, it is never boring. It won't be for everyone, indeed I'm not really sure it was for me - but it is more than cinematic wallpaper, and may well resonate more with those from the gay community of mid 1980s Thatcherite Britain than perhaps with many others. It is interesting, but I doubt I would watch it again

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