American Fable is ambitious, maybe too much so sometimes, but there's an intense pleasure in the boldness of the film's style.
If "The Honey Pot" had been a novel and not a film, it would, have been one of those leisurely, old-fashioned thrillers John Dickson Carr used to turn out.
The plots were always romantic, cerebral and incredibly complex. For example: An enigmatic millionaire invites three women from his past to a secluded Venetian palace. They are greeted by his secretary, a young man who announces that his master is ill and wishes to decide who to will his money to.
The guests eye each other suspiciously. One by one, they are called to the millionaire's room for interviews. Each leaves him an expensive present. Everyone retires for the night. Shadowy figures come and go through hidden passages, concealed gardens, dark stairways and dumb waiters. The lights flicker on and off, and the phone does not work. In the morning there are two corpses, and an inspector arrives on the scene.
All of this was strictly according to form. It was the rest of the plot that mystery fans really savored. All those involved conversations beginning, "Oh, then you mean that after Mrs. Sheridan had locked herself into her bedroom for the night, the butler went out the back way, etc."