There can be few more coruscating studies in Hollywood failure than Nathaniel West's novella, The Day of the Locust. It is peopled by no-hopers; starlets waiting for the big break that will never come, hack writers toiling ceaselessly (and forlornly) on scripts no-one will ever read, broken-down old vaudeville performers and endless hangers-on.

In many ways, this was a courageous choice of material for director John Schlesinger. Not only did he risk antagonising West's many fervent admirers. He was also laying himself open to the charge of bad faith by using studio resources to make a film so critical of Hollywood.

Schlesinger was lucky, however, in his choice of actors. Woebegone, moose-faced Donald Sutherland turns in one of the performances of his career as the grubby, two-bit sycophant who falls in love with the ambitious but feather-headed starlet (Karen Black).

His scriptwriter, Waldo Salt, skilfully opens out West's story, which on the surface seemed too slight to support a feature-length narrative. And Schlesinger's spirited direction of the apocalyptic finale ensures everything ends with a bang in this courageous, impressively seedy evocation of the underside of Hollywood life.

Geoffrey Macnab

Prod co: Paramount

Prod: Jerome Hellman

Scr: Waldo Salt

Ph: Conrad Hall

Ed: Jim Clark

Prod des: Richard Macdonald

Mus: John Barry

Cast: Donald Sutherland, Karen Black, Burgess Meredith, William Atherton, Geraldine Page, Richard Dusart

Running time: 144 mins

Screening: 23 June, 17.30. Kveten

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