Death Is Tapping You On The Shoulder, Morgan Freeman…

…And doesn’t Hollywood just love reminding their own that they are not immune to the aging process.

Oh, you can go see you doctor in Beverly Hills, you know the one: Doctor Everything’ll Be All Right. Instead of asking how much of your time is left, ask him how much of your mind, baby.

I have been barraged by an onslaught of movie posters in recent weeks for a film called Last Vegas. I have to assume the film is crap. The poster only helps to suggest its banality, and the title hints at a version of The Hangover for the Depends undergarment set (or those that enjoy laughing at/along with the elderly). Needless to say, I won’t be rushing out to see it anytime soon. I’d sooner undergo another colonoscopy, which is something I have to assume the four main leads in the film have gone through on more than one occasion. If not, they should strongly consider doing so – the likelihood of getting bowel cancer greatly increase once you turn 50.

Using my sharply honed skills of analysis, I managed to deduce that the plot for Last Vegas basically revolves around four friends – played by Bobby De Niro, Michael Douglas, Kevin Kline and the aforementioned Freeman – on one last hurrah before sailing off into the sunset of matrimony (for Douglas’ Billy) and before long, death.

The implied humor with the film’s title and premise is that these older gentleman are well into their golden years and mortality is staring them right in their weathered, wrinkled faces (except for Douglas, whose mug looks amazingly “youthful” for a man of 69). I wonder how the actors themselves feel about this? In any event I’m sure they care less than I do, and just cashed another fat paycheck and moved on with their lives (what’s left of it, at least).

But if it were me in a similar situation, I’m not sure I’d be smiling like the four men on the poster are. If death were as close to me as it is to them, I think I might have a face that conveyed the requisite terror and panic associated with being steps away from Death’s cold hand on my thespian shoulder.

If a studio offered you a gig where you are forced to wrestle with the notion that, despite the spoils that go along with being a Hollywood staple, you will one day die a lonely, painful death you might consider another profession. I am keenly aware that I will die someday, but I most certainly do not need this fact to be packaged into a pithy ninety minute comedy and farmed out to the local multiplex as commerce.

No one need be reminded of their mortality.

Back in 2007, Freeman featured in another reminder of death packaged as Tinseltown produce, entitled The Bucket List. Alongside Hollywood stalwart Jack Nicholson, Freeman portrayed a terminally ill man hellbent on living what remains of his life to the fullest.

Another film about death, another reminder that death beckons for Mr Freeman. The people he portrays are dropping like flies. They say art imitates life. In Mr Freeman’s case – and indeed, for the stars of Last Vegas and The Bucket List – perhaps it is more a case of art approximating death.

Spooky.

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