John Huston wasn't one to indulge in regrets about what might have been, but if ever a film-title was written on his heart, it was surely that of this film. Having elected to go with Montgomery Clft in the title-role (a very reasonable casting choice, on the face of it), Huston found that the hard-drinking and notoriously neurotic actor had declined steeply since they had worked together on "The Misfits" the previous year, and it was a daily agony to get any kind of performance out of him. Scenes had constantly to be rewritten because Clift couldn't manage their subtleties, he would turn up drunk or else find any excuse to storm off the set and the shooting became immensely protracted. Huston - whose famously low threshold of boredom must have been sorely tested - had wanted to make a film about the founder of psychoanalysis ever since the end of World War II, when he'd made a famous documentary about the Army Psychiatric Unit; to have this dream project collapse on him when he finally got the wherewithal to make it must have been nightmarish. What's astonishing is that none of this pain and trouble is noticeable in the finished product, which is immensely engrossing - and Clift's performance, it must be said, seems just fine. Universal had no faith in the film's box-office potential, and when it opened in Britain, a full nine months after its US premiere, they had cut it by 20 minutes and retitled it ("Freud: The Secret Passion" - desperate or what?), and even then it was hardly shown. So the chance to see it now should emphatically be taken. Be warned, though - this isn't quite the full 140 minutes, although it is very nearly that. Incomprehensibly, a dream sequence seems to have been very briefly (and obviously) trimmed. This doesn't do much damage, it seems only a matter of seconds; but it's most annoying.