This movie is the rare example of “man in a telephone booth” film that would’ve been better if it had actually been pared down a little bit more. Presumably the budget wouldn’t allow for these two actors to go out on an actual night on the town, and so instead, they circle one another like hungry, existential sharks, asking each other probing questions about their life goals and privilege for two hours before one of them eats the other. The dialogue to this film reflects some of the idiosyncracies of festival scripts: highly self-aware, conversations about conversations, endless analysis of mundane beliefs and practices. Last Days in that sense aligns itself with other festival movies like All About Who You Know from this year. Sarah Harper’s subterfuge matches well with Faiola’s non-stop chatter and the endless confidence that comes with generational wealth.
The film is pretty empty in its commentary about wealth and privilege or even as a character study of people in their thirties, so I don’t have too much else to say about this one. If you ever feel nostalgic about sitting in a Vegas penthouse, this is probably the movie for you.
