Tormented

The film is given a contemporary tone thanks to Albert Glasser's booming jazz score and characters speaking in beat poet slang.

The story is decent and some individual scenes click, but the low-budget production values and some weak acting from the supporting players hurt.

'She's dead,' muses Richard Carlson. 'She doesn't exist. She's a perfume, she's a footprint, she's a hand, she's a face in a picture...' In other words, she sure is present for something that 'doesn't exist'; isn't that the way 'dead' loves tend to be?

Though it's passable entertainment, the ghost story developments are too ridiculous to be even considered real possibilities.