The Monthly Film Bulletin wrote: "As a record of that celebrated meeting of poets which packed the Royal Albert Hall last June, Wholly Communion certainly has its points: here, preserved for the curious and the social historian, are the narcissistically mumbling poets (Logue, Ferlinghetti and Mitchell are notable exceptions), and the huge audience, which came expecting one knows not what, listening reverentially (did they enjoy themselves?). Aside from its interest as a document, unfortunately, the film is a clumsy piece of work. The single camera, rather uncertainly doing its best to give an overall coverage, wobbles and shudders, zooms in to a target, misses, tries again and re-focuses, in a poor approximation to the much more professional American cinéma-vérité approach. A good deal of the framing is also ugly, and there is an interminable sequence in which the camera seems to be hypnotised by a girl in the audience who is waving her arms about like a third-rate interpretative dancer in time to Ginsberg's poetical mutterings."[5]
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