“The Last … Mumble Mumble” is just about its own entire sub genre of cinema and literature. Call it supply and demand, but “the last” of just about anything is going to be awesome by default. Bud Light is only good for watering your lawn, but the last Bud Light? Well that should be saved for watering the square foot of your lawn that you hate the most.
There’s even the sub genre of the sub genre (sub² genre²?): “The Last (Dude of Some Kind).” And strangely, the movies in that strange little classification are overwhelmingly good compared to the average quality of movies. Of course, most films produced are pornography, Michael Bay films, or both, so the average film has the mental capacity of a patient whose atomic syphilis went untreated for the last thirty years.
Presented in a meticulously derived order calculated with an algorithm known only to a secret cabal within the NSA:
The Last of the Mohicans
The Last Samurai
The Last King of Scotland
The Last Starfighter
The Last Emperor
The Last Boy Scout
Of course, this is all an elaborate set up for a bar joke, perhaps the worst bar joke ever devised by a whiskey-addled mind. It’s so lame that it once snapped a priest’s mind, sending him streaking through a convent, wearing only his Roman collar (and not around his neck). By posting it online, there is a serious risk that its lameness might kill more brain cells than Saturday morning cartoons, cable news, and that horrifying old lady who talks candidly about sex late at night on my television, combined together into the Voltron of neural death.
So, the last Mohican, the last samurai, the last king of Scotland, the last starfighter, the last emperor, and the last boy scout walk into a bar and the bartender says … “Sorry, the last call was ten minutes ago.”
Thank you! Tip your waitresses, I’ll be here all week!