The Misfits

A problematic but provocative piece of work.

Marilyn Monroe, the Saint of Nevada Desert. When everything has been said about The Misfits, how bad the film is and all that, she still remains there, a new screen character, MM, the saint. And she haunts you, you'll not forget her.

Gable is a tender, stoic hand at the end of the line, and Montgomery Clift, Eli Wallach and Thelma Ritter add pungent support.

Against all odds, [Monroe] gives an extraordinary performance.

Looks even starker and more jarringly isolated today than it did in 1961.

John Huston's latter-day western exerts a doomy, morbid fascination that goes beyond what we see on the screen.

A gripping and messy ode to the collision of genres, time periods, and personalities.

Somehow the flat, arid Nevada landscape mirrors the characters' bleak existence and sets the overall mood of despair and depression.

The faces of Gable, Clift and Monroe together in closeup have a Mount Rushmore look to them.

What a multiple swansong and beautiful accident The Misfits is.

A glorious, brave, imperfect portrait of flawed people yearning for freedom and respect, but pulled by the primal urges of love, lust and pride to trap themselves in cages of their own crafting.

Such a fantastic acting showcase that it's easy to lose sight of the fact that a top-shelf talent like John Huston directed.