Turns out that when you cross The Hangover with Grumpy Old Men, you don’t summon the apocalypse, but instead produce a relatively subdued, kindhearted lark. A throwback not just to when its four leads dominated Hollywood (imagine this cast in 1989) but to when comedies cared about characters, Last Vegas has an admittedly lazy premise: On the eve of his marriage to a 32-year-old, industrially tanned sexagenarian Billy (Michael Douglas) is joined in the City of Sin by his childhood pals (Robert De Niro, Morgan Freeman, Kevin Kline), the erstwhile Flatbush Four.
Rote ageist jokes abound (“Do you guys have drugs?” asks a bachelorette; “Does Lipitor count?” responds Kline), but they come with an inclusive, self-deprecating spirit that grows more endearing over the duration—especially when Mary Steenburgen classes things up as a sultry, self-possessed lounge singer who outshines every string bikini within eyeshot. Mortality looms even for Hollywood heroes, making it hard to resist what’s left of the party. Everyone’s slumming it here, but buoyantly so.
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