Last Summer in the Hamptons

Comedy where???? A load of poseurs and wannabe intellectuals strut about and act like morons. And endlessly, monotonously search for 'ze meaning of lieeefe'. They whine on and on, ad nauseam about art and acting and examine their navels until you want to scream. Yawn, it felt about five hours long. Oh and of course we have to have the childish social justice nonsense about everything. It feels as if everyone wasparticipating in a poor improvisation exercise. Tedious, tedious and more so. I'm being ultra generous giving it five stars. There is really no true intellectual interest in even five minutes of this nonsense. Avoid!

Henry Jaglom is the Woody Allen light (0 calories, 0 talent) of American film. His films (most of which he writes) are filled with unctuous pseudo intellectuals who do a vast amount of talking and very little listening. Filled with self importance they name drop ferociously and go from dull and tiresome conversation into mawkish rages that border on infantile.

In Last Summer in the Hamptons we are given the same crowd, this time as a theatrical family faced with selling there Long Island estate. Along with friends they all gather at the home for the last performance of the annual summer's end play. Enter your cross section cast of smarmy empty self important characters. The Matriarch, the Hollywood actress, father son playwrights at odds with each other and assorted precocious types age 16 to 60. Jaglom then patches the rest of the film together with mix and match conversations done in mostly two shot with some of the most annoying use of zoom this side of Spike Lee.

The dialogue which sounds like it was mostly improvised is stilted and flat save for some hammy flourishes by Viveca Lindfors. As Oona the LA actress, Victoria Foyt acts as if she's stranded on a raft in the middle of the ocean, clumsily pausing and searching for words, groping the other actors as if drowning. Given co-writer credit you would think she might have a better grasp of the script.

The rest of the cast is equally unremarkable because of Jaglom's sloppy inability as a director to get his actors to raise the heat above tepid. It's clear Jaglom's working on a shoestring budget knows a few people in the business and makes the most of what he has. I usually admire scrappy auteurs like Herzog and Fuller who have to sacrifice for their independence, but with that freedom must come form, content and talent, none of which Jaglom displays in this pompous loser.

If, like me, you don't know much about legitimate theater and how serious actors learn their craft, nor how that contrasts with Hollywood's business, you will find this a pleasurable and informative look into an actors' retreat and workshop.

Victoria Foyt stars as a young actress made famous by a starring role in films about a Wonder Woman super hero. She has managed to be invited to a retreat run by a Grand Dame of legitimate theater, played by Grand Dame of legitimate theater Viveca Lindfors in her last role. Besides her acting role, Victoria Foyt is also listed as one of the writers of the movie, and maybe had something to do with getting it made. I had never heard of Victoria Foyt but thought she was truly outstanding, particularly in her training exercises playing a variety of animals. Maybe she wrote the script as a means of showcasing her talent.

I found the movie to be thoroughly enjoyable.

It's hard to say how to describe this movie. I suppose that's because I don't often see others of its kind, which is too bad. It'd be nice to have a model to cite; though I guess it aspires to Renoir (see below).

Elements: Head games at every turn. Interesting scenario: Latest Hollywood hot property, poised to ascend to iconhood, visits rootsy theatrical community on the skids, hoping to rediscover art. Chekhovian; everybody is an angelic jerk. Serious and fairly effective pilfering of Jean Renoir's "La Regle du jeu," esp. the capturing of that web of head/heart intrigue you can cut with a knife. Are these people really a dying breed? Does their infighting and endless one-upsmanship mindf**king make you long for the warmth and sincerity of Hollywood? A touch of James Joyce. An aging grand dame of Hollywood. A weird, dark family secret. Great, harrowing self-deception, and great drama. At times I was moved, sometimes with a portrait of hope for something great in the human heart, once by the overpowering darkness of one of the family secrets. Some very good writing, some tremendous acting. For example, the scene where Oona goes to see her producer at a sandwich shop; their dialog, and that last moment where he's trying to get a kiss out of her and she's barely resisting--one of the best moments I've seen on film.

If you like good acting, thick psychological stuff, colorful characters, preening never-been jackasses, and deep humanity, see this film.

Saw this film in a festival a few years ago and was deeply disappointed. It is a tale of a theatre family and their ups and downs during a summer in the trendy suburbs, but that's where the interest of this viewer ended.

Filmed in a dull style which reminded me of creaky home movies, this film is stodgy, poorly-written, and half-baked. It represents the last film performance of the late Roddy MacDowell and he is totally wasted in the role he has.

I heard that this film was supposed to be influenced by the great dramas of Russia and Scandinavia, and by film auteurs such as Woody Allen and Mike Leigh. I'll take all their work before I'd watch 'Last Summer in the Hamptons' again.