A mostly creaky, wheezy vehicle for Walter Matthau and Jack Lemmon, a definite upgrade over the Grumpy Old Men junkers, equally loaded down with a cargo of geriatric jokes: "There's no such thing as too late. That's why they invented death." For their present pairing they are brothers-in-law -- the intermediate woman is dead and gone -- one of whom signs up the both of them as dance hosts on a ten-day Mexican cruise. (Director Martha Coolidge, taking a breather from Women's Issues, is content to make the feminist statement of demonstrating herself a competent all-purpose hack.) The proximity to a dance floor has given rise, at least, to some inspired casting in the supporting ranks: former MGM musical stars Donald O'Connor and Gloria De Haven ("I haven't danced in a long time"). O'Connor treats us to a nostalgic tap solo, cut brutally short for reasons inexplicable outside of his low station in the billing hierarchy. He is partnered on another occasion in a pas-de-deux with an old Broadway trouper, the formidable Elaine Stritch (O'Connor: "To what do I owe this pleasure?" Stritch: "Two vodka stingers and I lost my key"), also abruptly truncated. Every principal in the cast, which takes in Dyan Cannon, Rue McClanahan, Hal Linden, the late Edward Mulhare, and an unrecognizable Brent Spiner, is granted a curtain call in the form of a few dance steps during the closing credits: a bright idea followed by a dull idea: the obligatory outtakes. (1997) — Duncan Shepherd
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