Last Summer in the Hamptons

A young Hollywood actress, eager for an Actor's Studio-style broadening experience, has the "priviledge" of visiting the eccentric dysfunctional members of an extended theater family at their estate on Long Island, the matriarch of which is herself a former Hollywood screen actress.

Right off the bat, we can determine that this is not a film for the general movie-viewing public, because it simply isn't. Not too many folks care to sit through a jumbled talk-fest in which a bunch of self-important, self-obsessed, often abrasively annoying "theater people" cut into each, talk over each and steal off each other's plates.

But as bad as it sounds, the film is- at its heart- is a truly biting comedy in the droll Woody Allen/Robert Altman style, which takes well-deserved swipes at these type of characters. They're annoying and shallow for a reason. Nevertheless, if one has never at some point experienced these type of personalities in their own lives, this film could very well be meaningless and mind-numbingly pointless.

The central character, the young actress played by Victoria Foyt, seems at first to be the most sympathetic and well-grounded participant despite her nagging insecurities about her craft. But still, she is seen at every turn transforming her visit into a suck-up fest as she tries to garner an ever-changing toehold into theater from whomever will grant her one.

For those who are game- and it does get better with repeated viewings- there is a lot of humanity and warmth under all the dysfunction on display, and Foyt and Lindfors are standouts in a cast that does a good job of inhabiting characters who clearly need to get over themselves.

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.

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!

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.

Henry Jaglom, a film maker as much tied to the New York theater world as he is to Hollywood, writes and directs a story well-keyed to his split loyalties.

A Hollywood actress about to sign on for her umpteenth reprise of a commercially successful but cartoonish role longs for artistic redemption and a full workout of her instrument. She travels with a friend to a dying temple of private summer theater in East Hampton, New York. There she visits with a legendary actress (Viveca Lundfors) and her extended family as they mount their last summer play before selling their long held homestead.

The family members are neurotically, hopelessly tied and dedicated to each other - tearing at each other for understanding while upstaging each other. The Chekovian scale and tone of this screenplay are both well met - the dying estate, the large ensemble and tumbling scenic structure. There is much of Woody Allen, Ingmar Bergman, John Cassavetes and Chekov here. The scenes are tightly written, and deftly played - and very likely improvised off and on. Andre Gregory does a funny turn with Victoria Foyt in one wrestling scene. Melissa Leo, drenched in longing as Trish, hits some fabulous peaks. Victoria Foyt as Oona is also strong. Lundfors thoroughly understands her role as a legendary matriarch whose attempts at self-effacement never quite ring true.

This is a funny, loving look into the foibles of a theater family -- their fatuously ego-driven yet heart rending issues. For theater lovers and mature fans of Ibsen, Chekov, Joyce, Mike Leigh, Bergman or Allen "Last Summer" will be satisfying. For others, be forewarned. You may miss the point.