This is a gorgeous movie made by a gorgeous spirit.

It's easily one of the freshest, sharpest and most enjoyable films of this year.

I enjoyed watching this film and would recommend other to give it a try , (as I am) but this movie, although enjoyable to watch due to the better than average acting fails to add anything new to its storyline that is all too familiar to these types of movies.

If you're interested in the topic at hand, you should just watch it and judge yourself because the reviews have gone very biased by people that didn't even watch it and just hate (or love) the creator. I liked it, it was well written, narrated, and directed and it was about a topic that interests me.

It is very difficult to sit through this last of O'Neill's works. It is nearly three hours in length and is repetitious at times. What one really views it for on repeated viewings are the performances. In this version Olivier earns his Emmy Award with the best performance I have seen of the elder James Tyrone. In the other two I've seen, Ralph Richardson was too dry and Jack Lemmon too mannered.Cummings does well as Mary Tyrone, but both Bethel Leslie and Katharine Hepburn were better. The sons fare well. Dennis Quilley is quite good as Jamie, my only problem being his facial resemblance to Robert Preston - I kept expecting him to break into patter song to warn the family of trouble brewing in River City. He is topped however by Kevin Spacey's Jamie. For me the revelations was Ronald Pickup as Edmund. I'd only seen Pickup in self-contained, proper British roles and this is the first time I've seen him let go emotionally. He was one of the two best Edmunds I've seen, the other being Peter Gallagher, who takes the lead for me.The production runs two hours and 41 minutes.

Eugene O'Neill was one of America's greatest writers and this play comes at the end of his long career. LDJIN is the most autobiographical of his plays, and it is significant that he didn't write from his own experience until the end of his life, when he could understand it.But a play isn't necessarily good just because it is written from the author's experience, it takes imagination too, and O'Neill has it, and it is imagination that helps O'Neill forgive his stingy and tyrannical old father. Olivier is great as the father, at once authoritative and poignant, regretting the waste of his talent, and Chapman, Pickup and Quilley are all fine as his enslaved family.I first saw this production when I was 16 and I have never forgotten it. It's slow and wordy, but if you stick with it it has a humanity and compassion that set it far above most plays of the twentieth century.

Sorry to disagree, but I found this production very disappointing. Almost unwatchable. One of the most verbose plays ever written, but even aside from that, as the reviewer states above, this version is extremely stage-bound, and the actors, even Olivier, deliver substandard performances. Constance Cummings is definitely no Katherine Hepburn, not only judged by her weak portrayal here, but by her similarly spotty career. The best that can be said of the actors who play the sons is that they certainly look like they could be brothers in real life. The story may have been difficult for O'Neil to write, and scandalous when it was first performed, but it's now incredibly dated. They fight, they make up, they tell stories of the past, they fight again, then make up, and on and on. Redundant to the nth degree. The earlier, and in some versions, shorter 1962 version is far superior to this seemingly unending production. Just my two cents.

This version of O'Neil's play, the supreme tragedy in American drama, is hard to find and not readily available on video. That's a shame, and the film deserves better. It's basically a stage-bound version of the National Theatre production starring Lord Laurence Olivier. It's somewhat hard to get into--the set is ugly and cheap, the mise-en-scene is at first uninspired, and most of the cast can't truly capture American accents. (Only Constance Cummings, who plays the mother, is American.) But the movie improves. The actors improve gradually on their accents, the sets are swathed more in darkness, and the direction betrays traces of sensitivity, and an increasing mobility (not enough) and knowledge of what should and shouldn't be shown to the viewer. (Though the actors seem basically left to fend for themselves, and are awkwardly blocked.) The problem with O'Neil's play is that it demands actors who can stand up to it. The downward spiral of the Tyrones, with its desperate guilt transferrals and the complicated, realistic web of mistakes, regrets and anguish requires skilled actors who can avoid emotional monotony. It can't simply be one accusation and outburst after another. The actors must be able to modulate their reactions and gauge the proper times for added emphasis. Monotony is what resulted in the 1987 version of the play, with Jack Lemmon miscast as the father and Kevin Spacey employing his very limited (and overrated) talents as Jamie. To a lesser extent the actor's playing the sons in this version aren't up to the play either--Ronald Pickup's Edmund can barely master a convincing accent and has a limited supply of tricks, while Dennis Quilley's Jamie holds his head with a very un-american reserve, and never really lets loose. He stands in contrast with the late Jason Robards, who played the definitive Jamie in the 1962 film, which he burnt a hole through. It was large, virile performance, and one sorely needed here. The parents are better-cast. Constance Cummings, who played the vivacious, maddening and ultimately vulnerable efficiency expert in "Battle of the Sexes" to perfection, doesn't quite erase the memory of Katherine Hepburn's spacey, strangely sexy portrayal of Mary Tyrone, but she comes close. She has the right mixture of brittleness and fear. The only real flaw is a certain lack of genuine highs and lows to the performance. Laurence Olivier makes sure to supply quite a large number of these. He begins dodgily, but eventually turns in the best performance of James Tyrone on film. Whereas his old friend Ralph Richardson had given an effectively icy edge to the part, Olivier brings to it his usual bloody-mindedness. (His Hamlet was simultaneously colder and angrier than any other actor's--compare it to Branagh's fey, weak-kneed version. Olivier is forever his superior) His American/Irish accent is too strong on the corny brogue, and along with his usual bodily mannerisms threatens to turn the performance into a caricature. But his face never betrays him--every close-up we get is worthy of treasuring, because few other actors can give so many shades of desolation, depression and hurt pride. He knows how to structure the performance in order to wring out every drop of drama. Sometimes his effects are coarse or misjudged but they point to his greatest strength--the fearlessness, the willingness to cahnce making a fool out of himself. Despite all the flaws in the conception and exceution of the part, he and Cummings are ultimately the greatest reasons to see this movie. Lumet's film has better actors in the other roles, along with finer overall sense of mood and mise en scene, but this production deserves an equal chance from the viewer. Flawed, but essential for anyone who loves the play.