3.5 stars. Rated R, for blunt profanity
By Derrick Bang
Once the characters are
introduced, and the core premise established, most folks will be able to
anticipate all the plot beats coming in Stuart Ross Fink’s script.
Doesn’t matter. The execution is
charming, from start to finish.
Actors lucky enough to achieve
milestone birthdays often are rewarded with the opportunity to play eccentric
and/or cantankerous oldsters who leave a trail of shell-shocked victims in
their wake: a stereotype that rarely fails to entertain. Indeed, such character
portraits often result in nominations and awards. (Just for starters: Maggie
Smith, The Lady in the Van; Rolf
Lassgård, A Man Called Ove; Jack
Lemmon and Walter Matthau, Grumpy Old Men;
Art Carney, Harry and Tonto.)
Which brings us to tart-tongued,
obsessive/compulsive Harriet Lauler: a once successful advertising executive
whose world has contracted to the confines of her spacious, beautifully
appointed — but empty — house, and who now marks the passage of each grindingly
slow day with boredom and frustration. And who is played, with waspish delight,
by Shirley MacLaine.
The Last Word — terrific title, by the way —
finds Harriet adrift in a lonesome existence of her own making: completely
isolated from the family members, former friends and colleagues that she has
annoyed, offended, insulted or merely exasperated. Whether this seclusion is
deserved, is beside the point; our heartbreaking introduction to Harriet finds
her at low ebb, MacLaine wordlessly conveying the woman’s hushed despair during
a somber montage accompanied solely by soft notes from Nathan Matthew David’s
score.
This is by no means the first
film to preface its narrative by mining gentle chuckles from a character’s
ill-conceived suicide attempt. Goldie Hawn won an Oscar for doing so, back in
1969’s Cactus Flower; poor Lassgård’s
similar efforts kept getting frustrated, in the aforementioned A Man Called Ove. The worst part for
Harriet, after hospital treatment, is that she’s embarrassed to have revealed a
weakness in her unswerving refinement.
But the act also prompts an
epiphany, when she happens to glance at a random obituary in the local
newspaper. Suddenly concerned about how she’ll be remembered in a few similarly
short paragraphs, after her passing, Harriet impulsively decides to control the situation. She therefore
hires the young journalist in question — Anne Sherman (Amanda Seyfried) — to
write her obituary. Now, while she’s
still alive.
Understandably astonished by such
brass audacity, under ordinary circumstances Anne likely would rebuff such a
request (demand). But this is the 21st century: Newspapers are failing daily,
and — as Anne is reminded by publisher/editor Ronald (Tom Everett Scott, in a
brief but memorable part) — Harriet Lauler is a wealthy woman in a position to
greatly help her financially stressed local paper. And, so, Anne reluctantly
succumbs to Harriet’s assignment.
The first round doesn’t go well.
Harriet’s blithe assumption that
Anne will get plenty of material from the lengthy list of interview subjects
proves a serious miscalculation, when nobody — not her estranged daughter (Anne
Heche) or ex-husband (Philip Baker Hall), not her former business associates,
not even her priest — has anything good to say about her. Even given her own
brief experience with Harriet, Anne is impressed by the depth of vitriol that
everybody displays for this tightly wound control freak.
Nor can Anne concoct brilliant
prose out of nonexistent material. Even Harriet can’t argue that point
(although she certainly tries).
That leaves only one option:
Harriet embarks on a campaign to refurbish her image — in a few weeks — by
building an entirely new legacy, based on a four-point “bucket list” of
accomplishments and character traits that she has decided, via research, are
common to the best and most satisfying obituaries.
It’s a droll premise, at first
blush, and that’s the beauty of Fink’s script. Although we initially smile at
Harriet’s “foolish” effrontery, and wince at her relentlessly dismissive
manner, by the second act we identify with this focus on mortality, family,
legacy and identity. We all worry about such things.
And, thanks to the delicacy of
MacLaine’s performance, we come to sympathize with Harriet. Eventually. Mostly.
(Even at her gentlest, Harriet’s blunt declarations can be breathtaking.)
The point, of course, is that
people such as Harriet inspire greatness — if only as a result of I’ll-show-her indignation — because they demand
it. Our most fondly remembered school teachers aren’t the ones who coddled us,
and praised even insignificant effort; we most respect the people who hammered
us, terrorized us, and inspired us to become our best selves. It’s an illuminating
moral that cannot be repeated often enough, and this film’s cast ensures smooth
and entertaining delivery here.
MacLaine is delightful, her
performance a savvy blend of rudeness, shrewd perception, intelligence,
slashing humor and — yes, it’s true — empathy and vulnerability. There’s no
doubt that Harriet is the smartest person in the room: She knows it, and she
demands that everybody else acknowledge it; what’s wrong with that?
Director Mark Pellington regards
Harriet as a much older version of Aurora Greenway, the equally controlling
character that brought MacLaine an Oscar in Terms
of Endearment. It’s an astute observation, and MacLaine may have shaded
Harriet in that direction.
Seyfried’s performance is equally
layered. Despite Anne’s spunky exterior, she’s quite insecure: a would-be
“great writer” stuck in a dead-end job about which she cares little, who pens
essays in a journal that she refuses to let anybody else read. She flinches
under the constant application of Harriet’s dependably proper grammar, knowing
deep down that her older companion often is dead-on correct about all sorts of
things.
But at the same time, Anne isn’t
without her own insight; she has a journalist’s inquisitive nature, and an
understanding that surface qualities can be deceptive. Watching Anne blossom
and mature, via Seyfried’s carefully shaded portrayal, is thoroughly
satisfying.
The third member of what becomes
an inseparable dynamic must’ve been the toughest to conceive, and the most
difficult to bring to the screen. Having decided that she must “change a life”
— one of the items of the bucket list — Harriet merrily visits a local
community center, a dismayed Anne in her wake, with the goal of mentoring a
troubled child. Just like that.
Brenda, the foul-mouthed little
spitfire in question, is played with irrepressible sparkle by AnnJewel Lee
Dixon. She’s hilarious, and damn near steals the film from MacLaine (which, let
it be said, is no small accomplishment). Dixon’s role also straddles the
razor’s edge between engaging behavior and unpalatable stereotyping: a delicate
balance that must have worried Pellington and Fink every time she stepped in
front of the camera.
The young actress carries the
day, thanks to her precocious blend of feisty self-assurance and no-nonsense circumspection.
Brenda is just as blunt as Harriet, which makes them a solid match. And if the
little girl “softens” much too rapidly, between the first and second times we
see her, well, that’s the nature of feel-good fairy tales; they show us the
world as we’d like it to be.
Thomas Sadoski, easily recognized
from TV’s The Newsroom and Life in Pieces, is terrific as Robin
Sands, manager of a local indie radio station. Sadoski’s first scene with
MacLaine is marvelous, Harriet having decided to parlay her love and varied
knowledge of music into a late-entry career as a DJ (the “wild card” on the
bucket list). The two size each other up with sharp observations about
musicians, vinyl, optimal broadcasting equipment and all sorts of other
details. It’s quite a moment.
Sadoski also exudes laid-back
charm, grounding the story as the one character who is satisfied with his place
in the world.
Harriet’s improbable endeavor
also allows the film’s already varied soundtrack to expand, with the skillful
application of tunes by The Regrettes, Diane Coffee, Witch, Lady Lamb, Salty
Dog and “the best rock band of all time,” The Kinks. Music supervisor Liza
Richardson deserves plaudits for such an inventive roster, and Pellington for
using everything so well.
The resulting concoction goes
down smoothly, if entirely predictably. The
Last Word is a sweet little film: the sort of gentle dramedy that invites
repeat viewing, and winds up being shared as a valued part of home video
libraries.
On top of which, any film that
celebrates newspapers, and good writing, deserves
to be cherished.
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