Let’s hear it for the late-60s pseudo-intellectual head trip movie! Fitting perfectly on a double bill with Frankenheimer’s Seconds, this smaller film stars Burt Lancaster as a delusional Connecticut man “swimming home” through a series of his neighbors’ backyard pools. At each stop things get a little weirder until he finally makes it home to his punchline. Far too much of this film is spent focused on the obvious “mystery” of what really waits for Lancaster. And between each episode we are submitted to a pretty laughable psychedelic sound-and-light show. Still, I must give this film points for trying; it does lend itself well as a diving board (ahem) to philosophical arguement. Is it a death hallucination like some say is found in Point Blank? Is it a birth hallucination like some say is found in 2001? Is it just an opportunity to see Lancaster’s bare ass? Either way we win.