Last Summer in the Hamptons

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.