I’ll make this brief, not because Last Vegas is a bad movie, but because it’s not substantial enough for a meaningful review. Michael Douglas, Robert DeNiro, Kevin Kline, and Morgan Freeman are four old codgers staring down the barrel of mortality when Douglas’ character calls them with news he’s getting hitched to a woman half his age. The foursome — who have been best friends for 60 years — break free from their muted and miserable home lives and spend the weekend cutting a rug in Vegas together.
There are old-man gags, Viagra jokes, a few puns, display cases of cleavage, and a lot of gawking, but there’s plenty of foul-mouthed camaraderie, too. As The Hangover rip-offs go, it’s immeasurably better than the last two installments of that franchise, and it beats the the elastic out of The Bucket List’s socks. While it may be an easy movie to dismiss, it is an impossible one to trash. It’s too earnest, too soft hearted. The four old geezers crank the charm up to 11, douse the hornball humor in sentimentality, and there’s enough twinkle in the eyes of the characters to light up a goddamn disco floor.
It’s not a great movie by any stretch, but it’s probably the best thing that either Michael Douglas or Robert DeNiro has done in years. It’s easy-going, gentle-humored, and inoffensive, mixing just enough charisma and affability to pleasantly pass the time while we all wait to die.
(*Headline pun blatantly stolen from Joanna Robinson)