Ted, a stuffy white guy from Illinois working in sales for the Barcelona office of a US corporation, is paid an unexpected visit by his somewhat less stuffy cousin Fred, who is an officer ... See full summary »
Last Days of Disco loosely depicts the "last days" at a disco palace, where drugs, sex and weirdness ran rampant. The story centers around a group of friends who frequent the disco and each other. All the characters are searching for something to make their lives more fulfilling. Some are searching for everlasting love and some are just wanting something different. As the disco is closed, they all wonder can disco ever really be dead? Written by
Kathy Clark <email@example.com>
When the nightclub manager is in the DJ box and says, "Michael, "Good Times"", meaning play the song "Good Times" by Chic, the record cover that the DJ picks up shows an image of a white, blonde female artist, clearly not Chic. Also the visible label on the actual record is blue, not the red/black or red /green Atlantic Records logo, Chic's record company label. See more »
the dialogue is fresh and chances are you'll be grinning from here to Bolivia when the "Love Train" rolls through the subway at the end.
`You have no idea what men think about women's breasts,' womaniser Des McGrath (Christopher Eigeman) pleads. No, not a rehash of Boogie Nights, but the third instalment, following Metropolitan and Barcelona, of Whitman's `yuppie' odyssey.
This New York yarn centres on publishing assistants Charlotte (flawless snotty American accent by Kate Beckinsale) and her best friend/biggest rival Alice (Chloe Sevigny). Bitchy Charlotte - `In physical terms, I'm cuter than you, but you're much nicer than I am,' - and Alice fall in with a parade of self-absorbed fellows in pullovers and drab ties. The `verbal' action between this set of intellectual folk takes place at a ludicrous dance palace in the very early 80s, with the `disco movement' decaying and Reagan's soul-devouring materialism taking hold.
In the main these are disagreeable people, but as much as you urge yourself to loathe them, you can't quite do it. Whitman's wildly self-indulgent and witty script (`Do you think the neurological effects of caffeine are similar to that of cocaine?') makes them impossible to ignore and eventually their awfulness becomes disturbingly compelling. A bit like Friends, only without dumb Joey and flaky Phoebe.
Although, aesthetically and visually Whitman's film doesn't quite ring true clothing looks too 90s and they'd never be able to talk so much in a club the dialogue is fresh and chances are you'll be grinning from here to Bolivia when the "Love Train" rolls through the subway at the end.
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