There were seven people in the huge Union Square theater for yesterday’s 9pm show of Last Orders. New Yorkers do not have much appetite for physical decay. They should; they might learn something.
Last Orders is touching, funny, and beautiful. The cast is perfect, except for the actress who plays Helen Mirren’s character as a girl, whose weak-chinned softness could not grow into a woman of Mirren’s depth. All the way home, jump-cut memories of the movie played for me just as memories of their dead friend Jack had played for the characters. Life is long, but we don’t often get to see the cumulative effect of youthful choices—for good and bad—played out at the cinema.
Charles Taylor’s Salon review captures it better than I can. If you see it, tell me what you think.