Young spinster, who doesn't associate with women her own age and is eyed by gentleman from the retirement set, invites an apparently mute young man into her apartment on a rainy day. Nervous and overly-polite to hide her own sexual insecurities, she is most pleased when the boy makes himself to home in her guest bedroom...but not so happy when he begins sneaking out the window at night. Sandy Dennis is not a hapless actress, but why she was attracted to these sad-sack roles I guess we'll never know. Based on a book by Richard Miles, and about as far removed from a commercial drama as one could get, this lurid material not only attracted Dennis but also director Robert Altman (whose work is static, at best). The narrative seems almost a sex-reversal of "The Collector", a tag which may have sold the film-rights but which doesn't turn out to be a good idea cinematically. Even the film's best sequence (Dennis shopping for a prostitute to satisfy her prisoner) doesn't quite come off, with Sandy acting both ill and indignant (whose idea was this plan?). Michael Burns is quite good as the kid who uses this frumpy, pasty-sick woman just for her comfy digs, but he's handled too bashfully by Altman, with lots of strategically-placed towels and flesh-colored undies (Altman clearly wasn't ready for a mature picture with adult themes at this point). Sandy Dennis has a handful of very good scenes; she doesn't chatter away mindlessly here, she thinks before she speaks and she's alarmingly careful in her actions. Unfortunately, the role itself is a bummer, with an apparent slide into mental deterioration which seems to happen off-screen. As such, the abrupt finale is maddening, and the overall results tepid. *1/2 from ****