PARTING SHOTS/ *1/2

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Parting Shots

*1/2

Rated on a 4-star scale
UK
Directed by Michael Winner
Written by Nick Mead and Michael Winner
From a story by Michael Winner

CAST.....
Chris Rea..... Harry Sterndale
Felicity Kendal..... Jill Saunders
Oliver Reed..... Jamie
Joanna Lumley..... Fred
Diana Rigg..... Lisa
Bob Hoskins..... Layton
Ben Kingsley..... Renzo
John Cleese..... Maurice Walpole

The clichés of lousy film critics can be as embarrassing as those of lousy films, and it's a tiresome tactic of the hack to insult Michael Winner, rather than review his work. Personally, I don't see the point. He's rumoured to be arrogant and obnoxious, but there are worse directors with worse reputations, whose treatment in the press is a lot better.

His new film, "Parting Shots", has encouraged even more reviews of the Winner persona, and I'm still weary of the vendetta. This is a lousy film, but without any personal stamp -- and the content, not the filmmaker's life, deserves the reproach. There's plenty of ammunition.

The bizarre plot involves Harry Sterndale (Chris Rea), a professional photographer who's been diagnosed with terminal cancer, and six weeks to live. After some earnest dwelling on what a lovely, sensitive chap Harry is, the film follows his brutal revenge on everyone who's ever been mean to him, from his bitchy ex-wife (Diana Rigg), to a ridiculously one-dimensional school bully, to a chef who throws him out of a restaurant (Ben Kingsley). On his journey, he takes along new-found love Jill Saunders (Felicity Kendal). The film also features Oliver Reed, in his last performance, as a warm, quiet hitman.

Rea makes a grossly uncharismatic lead, and his dull, dissolute little character is sighing sluggishly in every situation -- not only the self-pitying mopes, but when making love, or even when blowing somebody's head off. Felicity Kendal looks like she's on acid, as the totally dozy, spaced-out kook who encourages Rea's sick plans at every turn. Oliver Reed isn't amazing, but puts in a dignified final turn. Diana Rigg, however, looks to be in pitiful shape; Joanna Lumley is bewildering as a gun-dealing hippie chick from Hackney; and John Cleese's five-minute stint of meaningless hyperactivity is the lowest of the low, and could not be more damaging to his career than a three-hour documentary by someone who hated him.

"Parting Shots" was co-written by Nick Mead, as was last week's "Swing" -- another film of complete pointlessness, existing in a stupid, zombie-like world I didn't care about. Nobody in this movie has any normal reaction, morality, routine, motivation or conversation. There are some awkward laughs of disbelief, but chances for solid black comedy are bludgeoned by the mawkish, slushy score, and there's no way the picture could be involving when it uses long stretches of Rea's dire singing as a means of achieving feature length.

What I liked about "Parting Shots" was the way Winner's pacing and visual design gave it the aura of a cheap 70s' flick. A tacky time, to be sure, but I have a sentimental soft spot for it. By the power of nostalgia, the bad films of that decade are better than the bad films of the now, and if the backwardness of "Parting Shots" condemns it... well, it sort of saves it, too.

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