This bears all the hallmarks of a film by Mauro Bolognini: stunning visual sense, literate script and of course, beautiful people.
Ruthless businessman Leonardo will stop at nothing to prevent his only son from entering the priesthood and once he has introduced him to the luscious Adriana, the young man's fate is sealed. Another nail in the coffin of his idealism is the realisation that a leftist intellectual writer whose works he admires has become one of his father's paid cronies. His fine ideals are eventually worn down and in the final scene he defiantly declares: 'I will defend my money, just like my father'. As he sobs in the car one is left wondering if he will ever come to terms with the life he is now obliged to lead.
Alain Cuny is tremendous and eminently plausible as Leonardo, the ultimate capitalist who believes that everything and everyone has a price(in which he is not far wrong) His son is played by Jacques Perrin. It is more difficult for an actor to play 'good' than 'bad' and he succeeds admirably in portraying young Stefano's moral and spiritual anguish.
Adriana, as played by Rosanna Schiaffino, lives according to her particular moral code whilst her beauty, energy and 'gioia di vivere' are intoxicating. This sultry, smouldering actress was not used to great effect in Hollywood and her best work by far is on 'home turf'. Isa Miranda impresses in a small but harrowing role as Leonardo's ageing, ailing wife.
The stunning images by Leonarda Barboni typify the perfection of black and white cinematography in Italian films of this period. The score is by Antonioni's favoured composer Giovanni Fusco.
The suicide scene at the office and that of the seduction on the yacht are tastefully handled. 'Style over content' is a criticism often levelled at this director's work but that certainly does not apply here. Based upon the novel by Alberto Moravia its theme of disenchantment is timeless.
The film's comparative commercial failure brought the first and most satisfying phase of Bolognini's career to a close.
