The Last of Sheila

The Last of Sheila, a star-packed murder mystery written by Broadway legends, really doesn't start or even progress with much momentum at all, but when the true wheels of the actual murder puzzle start turning, it pulls a lot of palpable tension and sharp dialogue out of nowhere and does the job. It doesn't help that first half that I was tempted to turn it off, but the fact that the intrigue ratcheted up at the precise moment when I was going to is what saved it by a hair's breadth. And I'm glad I stuck it out. It proved itself worthwhile.

The movie comes out of a fine heritage of murder puzzles from such as Agatha Christie and Patricia Highsmith. In fact, it's a little rare to see this material showing up first as a movie. It feels like the sort of story that would start life as a play. Bringing seven people together and then doing the old "one of the people sitting here amongst us is a murderer" schtick is inherently stagy. Nevertheless, it functions well as a movie, perhaps since the screenplay has as much to do with characters as with crime. The movie was written by Stephen Sondheim and Anthony Perkins, and they flaunt an apparent sense of showbiz manners and dialogue. They've also play Name That Tune with us: We can enjoy speculating who the bitchy agent was motivated by, or the director on the skids, or the centerfold, each played respectively by Dyan Cannon, James Mason and Raquel Welch, two out of three of whom kept me watching purely just to watch.

I like the concept of a murder mystery set among showbiz types because Hollywood is often thought to be shy about death and shrink from it. Genuine sorrow seems quite rare. The movie opens as a watchful-waiting stratagem concerning Coburn and the killer, which is latently intriguing though it rambles too far away from the point of tension and plays more like a '60s romp than an expository double-blind. Yet it makes a striking hairpin halfway through. And it actually is a game to them; they don't spend time mourning when somebody dies, just clean up the blood and tally one more loser against their competition for a win. And yet it's barely started until just two of these characters spend a great deal of time deliberately hammering out the true significance of the clues, a scene so tight, well-acted, well-written and loaded with sharp wit that it makes the whole package worth it.

A better part of the performances are pointed and mercenary, and very good, particularly James Mason with his typical cultured obstinacy. Dyan Cannon as the agent. Joan Hackett is beautiful and tender, and Richard Benjamin treads a fine line between voice of reason and a screenwriter trying to think in formulas. Coburn is always entertaining owing to his sheer presence and it's interesting watching an Ian McShane so much younger than anyone my age is aware he ever was. Welch is quite wooden by comparison, but as I said before

This is a perfect example of mature entertainment for its day, made in the deep dark days of the mid 1970s when the F word was rarely heard in cinema not shown in Times Square. Saw this one in the drive-in; yes the drive-in when I was a wee lad with my folks. I don't understand why it isn't better known, but most people I'm sure have never heard of it. It's a good one. Macabre, clever murder mystery with a cast you can sink your teeth into. The clothes, lingo and attitudes are so pathetically 70s; I sometimes find it hard to believe I'm actually this old when I watch something like this. Most of the action takes place on a yacht anchored off of the Italian Riviera, and to me it has always had twisted adult Gilligan's Island feel to it all. The scenes in the monastery are good old fashioned creepy. Find me a director who can do any of this now, without showing bare tetons or dismembered alien corpses, and I'll eat my bellbottoms.

Superb, darkly and wickedly comic whodunit from screenwriters Stephen Sondheim and Anthony Perkins, with all the pieces right there for you to place. Cunning James Coburn is the movie producer and game-aficionado who invites to his yacht the failed screenwriter (Richard Benjamin), his alcoholic wife (Joan Hackett, in a sympathetic performance), the catty agent (Dyan Cannon, more wired than ever before), the starlet (Raquel Welch, looking a bit dazed), the starlet's husband (Ian McShane) and a director down-on-his-luck (James Mason, the calm-head who pays attention to the details). The only trouble with "The Last of Sheila" is that the first-half, involving a hilarious personality game, is so clever, we want more of it; the murder-mystery second-volley is an acting showpiece, but not quite as engaging. Still, these characters are a wonderfully tainted, self-absorbed lot, and Cannon's mini-breakdown after someone almost offs her is a wild bit of hysterical showing off. I also admired Welch's scene at midnight on the top deck, talking about stealing a coat (she's very seductive and charming, though she continues to whisper her dialogue throughout the film and fails to make the strong impression each of her co-stars do). The character conflicts and the reasoning behind who-does-what-to-whom doesn't bear a great deal of scrutiny (and even after several viewings, I'm still not clear on that business regarding the cabin keys); however, the picture is extremely entertaining, a verbally exciting match-of-wits by a group of Hollywood hopefuls and burn-outs. ***1/2 from ****

This very fun movie made me so nostalgic for the 70's. Excellent who-dunnit. Dyan Cannon is perfect as the brassy, free-wheeling wild blonde; I don't know why she was not more famous--good actress, excellent comedienne, beautiful. For the first time ever, Richard Benjamin actually acts. James Mason is wonderful. Many very very funny moments. Raquel Welch is terrible--all she can do is be pretty. James Coburn as the captain who plans the crafty game onboard ship is a wonderful diabolical schemer. Too bad Tony Perkins and Steven Sondheim didn't write some more sreenplays. I loved this to death.

In 1973, at age 17, I walked into a movie multiplex (three theaters under one roof) in a neighboring city with little more on my mind than to kill a couple of hours before an appointment. I'd never heard of "The Last of Sheila" and therefore had no preconceived notions about it, but the starting time was right. I then had the rare and happy experience of seeing a movie I knew absolutely nothing about -- and loving it.

I subsequently dragged my friends to see it and was even inspired to host a "game" of my own (similar to the movie's central event) in my small home town. Granted, central Illinois is not as glamorous as the south of France, but we made do.

So the other night (many miles away and nearly 30 years later) when I saw the videotape at the neighborhood rental store I was almost reluctant to rent it and risk ruining a good memory. Would the movie hold up?

I have to say that while no longer quite so passionate about "The Last of Sheila" (or anything, for that matter), I'd still recommend it.

"The Last of Sheila" is, first of all, wonderfully of its period. The cast includes Richard Benjamin (Portnoy's Complaint), Dyan Cannon (The Love Machine), James Coburn (In Like Flint), Joan Hackett (Support Your Local Sheriff), James Mason (The Mackintosh Man), Ian McShane (Pussycat, Pussycat I Love You), and Raquel Welch (Myra Breckinridge). Add an early Bette Midler hit song and you have a quintessential early 1970's experience!

The screenplay is by film actor Anthony Perkins and musical theater lyricist and composer Stephen Sondheim. Combine the sophisticated intricacy of Sondheim's song lyrics with Perkins' long association with macabre cinema and you have the tone of "Sheila": witty, complex, dark and ironic.

I remember a magazine article from the time about Sondheim's passion for games and how it influenced the screenplay. This movie is like a game the viewer can play -- but don't expect to win. This is a fun, fast moving murder mystery with lots of clues and lots of red herrings, and its perhaps best just to sit back and pay attention to the scenery and bon mots.

One can forgive some lapses (personally, I cringe when Raquel opens her mouth) as overall the film is so interesting.

Conversely, I have to put in a plug for the lovely and vulnerable Joan Hackett, who is virtually unknown today but who is one of my favorite actresses from the era. If you've never seen her work, I recommend this film as well as "Will Penny" and "Support Your Local Sheriff." As Leonard Maltin says "Hackett had a special quality - along the lines of a Jean Arthur or Margaret Sullavan - that was simultaneously truthful and enchanting."

Citymars (6/19/02)