All of the production problems and the casting peccadilloes not withstanding A Matter of Time – 1976, is fun, fun, fun. This is really the highest form of camp. Sally Bowles as the sterile cuckoo goes to a fancy dress ball with bits of existentialism sprinkled hither and yon which was the angst, albeit upbeat, style of the mid-1970s. It is as if everybody is in on it except these condemnatory reviewers and possibility anyone under thirty-nine-years of age. We have to know that Vincent Minnelli and his daughter at some point knew exactly the effect this would have on all. I can't be sure it started out with this in mind but at some point during production camping it up became the intention of the day. Was it subconscious? We could try to get a perspective from Miss Minnelli but there is no need to bother her, really. It's thirty-five-years later and I am surprised you guys don't get it. It is quite simply, the highest of ball-gowned-Marie-Antoinette-wigged-Erte-donned, high camp.
Review of A Matter of Time
