In 1958 John Huston hired Jean-Paul Sartre to write a script about the founder of psychoanalysis, which eventually became a so-so movie starring Montgomery Clift. Surprise: the original screenplay is uniquely entertaining, in fact the only writing of Sartre's I've ever managed to get through. The introduction describes the inevitable misunderstandings that arose between the raffish, boozy, fox-hunting director and the hyper, garrulous, pill-popping existentialist. Riveting stuff. However, there was really no need to cram Sartre's treatment and his numerous revisions into one over-bulky volume.

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