The assumption of the film, that by casually picking up a stranger at a motor vehicle bureau and scratching his businessman's heart she would uncover a repressed poet, is too bizarre to be believed.

The direction, by Robert Ellis Miller, is flat -- as if neither he nor anyone else had any confidence in the material. He and the rest were right, of course.

Miss Dennis retains a lot of -- damn it -- charm. Or maybe it was the Michel Legrand score. Or maybe I was just refreshed to come across such honest sentimentality; in 1968, a rare breed of picture.

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