There are hours that you won’t get back. ‘A Severed Head’ owes me several but her credit is good. How interesting can utterly morally labile characters be is a question. If there is no personal center there is no interest in their predicaments, their confusion, their attachments or passions. Philosophically we are presented attributes without a substance. It’s a farce with houses instead of doors and initially it seemed to promise mockery of psychoanalysis when a wife and her analyst lover engage in the emotional healing of the cuckold. Then it fades away into musical beds in which all the dramatis personae permute polyamourously.
Don’t bother.
