A famous, larger-than-life movie star is brutally murdered (this isn't a spoiler; it happens right up front). He and his assassin wind up in the same place, which is a sort of Purgatory/holding area/four-star hotel--waiting for what? Therein lies the mystery.
As with "My Favorite Year" The saving grace of this movie is the one and only Peter O'Toole, poking gentle fun at his own image. I can't think of another star who would do. The movie required a big star from the past who stuck around and is not forgotten like "golden age" above-the-title stars or the pipsqueaks we have today, who can be forgotten while you're watching them. In fact, the only person I can think who might've filled the part as well is the long-gone Errol Flynn.
O'Toole, who all his career lurched between grand, wide-screen epics and smaller, weirder films (is anything weirder than "The Ruling Class?") is almost preternaturally perfect for this role. Mention his doubly-phallic name, ten years after the actor's real demise, and everyone knows who he was, onscreen and off. In fact, he might be the finest flat-out actor of my lifetime. And one of the best flat-out drinkers.
But will his fame live forever? If generations hence stumble on "Lawrence if Arabia" in whatever media they have when I'm dead will they wonder, "Who is that?" Look at the accolades heaped on actors who names no longer resonate, the Oscar winners who leave us scratching our heads. The cemeteries are full of faded tombstones bearing legends of people who will never be forgotten, whose great-grandchildren don't remember.
The frightening thing is that the afterlife seems to be only for the famous. I worked (only for a year or so, before moving on) as a movie reviewer for a genuine newspaper and these days I hope to enlighten and entertain by my reviews. But how many of us hope, as I did as a budding journalist/reviewer, to eke out some fame of my own, piggy-backing on the works of others? When I was doing my reviewing "Sneak Previews" was at its height. Do we contribute to imdb hoping for some whiff of lasting fame? So when we're gone our judgments will outlive us?
In the same way, the actor's murderer, whose name will forever be linked to his (Lincoln and John Wilkes Booth; Kennedy and Lee Harvey Oswald; Julius Caesar and Brutus) go to the same "island" for the famous.
Other characters on the "island" are portrayed by Robert Stephens (alas, these days more famous as the father of Toby) and Gottfried John from "Goldeneye."
It's made clear the swanky hotel where they're holed up in the afterlife is only temporary, so long as their Earthly fame lasts (presumably other islands exist for the rest of us shlubs). They meet a woman who can't remember who she was on Earth and who refuses to believe she's dead, and who raises the haunting spectre that they're all in a mental home. It's a genuine possibility.
O'Toole's character is desperate to know why he was shot, but his killer (Colin Firth) is for a long time not forthcoming, though it's fairly obvious from the clues.
Some of the funnier moments include a dead man committing suicide and the horrors of trying to eat with a plastic fork.
I've been watching movies for decades and my favorite directors are David Lean and Richard Lester, which should tell you something, if you remember Lester. I'm always on the lookout for good movies of any kind. I no longer cherish weird movies for their weirdness alone, but I may appreciate a weird movie and this is one of the weirdest I've come across.
Its Achilles heel ( its apparent philosophy is nonsense so take it for what it is) is the same as with actors who have to play dull characters: how do you play them without becoming dull? How do you portray a place where, for a long time, every day is the same without being dull? They licked the problem in "Groundhog Day" but tackle it somewhat differently here, with mixed results. After a while I was more than ready for the (totally unexpected) climax.
