Vincente Minnelli tries to go all hyper-modern in this widescreen adaptation of an Irwin Shaw novel, which I hope made more sense. Washed-up actor Kirk Douglas, all clenched teeth and dimple, is let out of the loony bin to rescue a faltering big-budget movie in Rome being directed by a manipulative, but somehow pitiable, Edward G. Robinson. Unsympathetic supporting characters abound: Douglas's awful ex-wife (Cyd Charisse, looking great and giving rather good shrew), Robinson's hysterical spouse (Claire Trevor, who is, for perhaps the only time in her life, dreadful), an insecure method actor (an OK George Hamilton), a starlet inexplicably drawn to Douglas (Daliah Levi, all bust). The histrionics, including a wild and wildly unbelievable Douglas-cracking-up-at-the-wheel car scene, are entertaining, but that the whole thing could somehow end happily is ludicrous. What's fun are the Rome trappings, with Douglas's fabulous car, the gowns, the locations, and some imaginative use of the wide screen. Also, some attractive old-Hollywood rumblings from composer David Raskin. Not one for the ages, but worth a look.