Paul Reynolds and Philip Williamson reminded me of silent film actors in this really quite poignant tale of homosexual longing, lust and pure love all complemented by a Shakesperian narrative consisting of fourteen of his sonnets read, emotively and vibrantly, by Judi Dench. The imagery is often quite disjointed and abstract: inanimate objects frequently imbued with animate traits - all as one man seeks his love, and also an assurance that he is pure enough to deserve and keep it. It lacks pace. At times this is more of a collage of loosely related scenes rather than a continuing storyline and ...