So begins Dylan Thomas' "In my Craft or Sullen Art," a poem about the elusiveness of the inner muse, which resists being easily understood. Though its words never show up in John Maybury's The Edge of Love, an absurdly stylized and utterly feeble supposition on the events that shaped the incomparable Welsh poet in war-stricken London, it points at the very heart of the film's artful damage.
Continue reading: The Edge Of Love Review
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