Aldrich's film endures not because it's an example of bad, pre-Stonewall homo images but because of its sly way of celebrating.

Robert Aldrich's "daring" 1968 mating of lesbianism and commerce was, as I recall, considered pretty tame even then; lord knows what it looks like today.

The spurious seriousness of the picture spoils the comedy, while its brave assault on convention is little but hollow show.

The Killing of Sister George... has almost as much relationship to the life of the ordinary Lesbian, as Donald Duck has to the ordinary man.