Daft potboilers don't come much dafter than this, but it's a Douglas Sirk movie which makes everything alright. Except in this case it doesn't. Based on a sanctimonious novel by the sanctimonious Lloyd C Douglas, (he wrote "The Robe"), and already filmed in 1935 with Irene Dunne and Robert Taylor, it's got more uplift than a cantilever bra.Rock Hudson is the arrogant playboy who not only feels responsible for making Jane Wyman a widow but later is directly responsible for the accident in which she loses her sight. To make amends he takes up medicine, becomes a great eye surgeon and restores it. (No, it sin't quite that daft; he had planned to become a doctor before becoming an arrogant playboy). In between times, they fall in love.Try as I might I can't quite find the redeeming social commentary and critique of American mores that are supposed to lie just below the surface of Sirk's films, (this one isn't too deep). On the plus side Rock Hudson isn't half bad, (I think I am rediscovering him), and, of course, it looks great, (in Sirk's films people live in rooms the size of cathedrals). Nothing in this film matches the best of his later work and even in soap-opera terms this is definitely daytime TV.
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