Far and away the funniest thing about Last Vegas, a comedy about a bunch of old guys reuniting for a
weekend in Las Vegas, is something that’s not intended to be a joke. It’s a
movie about guys trying to recapture their better days that hopes the audience remembers
its cast’s. Michael Douglas, Morgan Freeman, Robert DeNiro, and Kevin Kline
have been on the big screen since before I was born and in their many decades
of work have been in some of the best movies of all time. Last Vegas is not among their better efforts, but at least it’s not
a total embarrassment. It’s certainly not any more than not an embarrassment,
but that’s not nothing. The movie is built only to capitalize on their
likability derived from all their time spent building up loads of audience
affection. It’s counting on it, in fact, to fill in generic jokes and slight
plotting. The movie is pleasant, undemanding, and flimsy.
It’s an old person hangout movie in which likable and
wrinkly familiar faces sit around and enjoy each other’s company while working
through some old tensions that are saddled upon their characters in a mostly
doomed attempt to differentiate them from the actors’ personas. The story
starts when the guy played by Michael Douglas calls his old pals and tells them
he’s getting married in Vegas that weekend. They, being retired and not
particularly busy, make the appropriate travel arrangements and head off for a
septuagenarian bachelor party. It’s The
Bucket List by way of The Hangover,
but not nearly as schmaltzy or raunchy as that comparison suggests. There’s all
the gentle geriatric humor you’d suspect such a premise would invite.
Talk of surgery, pills, and doctors’ orders mixes freely
with misunderstanding slang, fumbling around gadgets, shouting over pounding
nightclub music, and talking to the much younger partiers around them. One
young lady tells Kline he reminders her of “Grandpa Lou.” The concierge tells
them their suite was previously booked by 50 Cent. “Fifty people in here?”
Freeman marvels. A nice lounge singer played by Mary Steenburgen shows up from
time to time, and she’s a nice break from the borderline sleazy montages of
poolside bikinis and showgirls. It’s nice to give the guys someone closer to
their own age to interact with.
Director Jon Turteltaub, who as of late has been making tame
action movies like National Treasure
for Disney, and screenwriter Dan Fogelman, of Crazy, Stupid, Love and The
Guilt Trip, keep the proceedings loose and mellow. They don’t spend too
much time insisting on their movie’s funniness, which makes it easier to take
the fact that it isn’t all that funny. It goes down smoothly since it’s not
spending its time being obviously unfunny. It’s just watchable and friendly.
Even the prerequisite mistaken identity crossdresser gag is relatively kind and
free of shame or awkwardness, as a more casually hateful comedy would stoop to.
No, here all are welcome to relax with the old guys, have a few drinks,
reminisce, play some blackjack, and party till it’s time to take more Lipitor. It’s
too somnambulant to work up the energy for more than a handful of moments that
even threaten to be in bad taste.
Without being in a hurry to get much of anywhere, Last Vegas simply shuffles along through
rote comic beats and unrushed sightseeing. Someone’s going to fall into the
pool. Someone’s going to either win or lose a great deal of his pension on the
casino floor. Someone’s going to try to use that little blue pill before the
weekend is over. It’s a film that lazily lollops its way to pretty much exactly
where you think it’ll go. There’s not much inherently funny about any of this –
no, not when Kline puts on his reading glasses to ogle a pretty girl, or when
Freeman busts a disco move, or when DeNiro is grinded upon by LMFAO’s Redfoo.
It’s barely even worth a chuckle when 50 Cent turns up as himself, asking the
guys to keep the noise down because he’s trying to sleep. It’s supposed to be
funny because he’s 50 Cent, much like the rest of the lame jokes are supposed
to be funny because of the cast of legendary actors who also happen to be old. It’s
a bland, vacant experience. I’d rather see a movie about what these guys did
between takes. Over the credits they could roll footage of whatever they’ve
bought with their paychecks.
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