This low-budget, limited-release film was originally titled "The Boynton Beach Bereavement Club," but the DVD marketers wisely chose to shorten the title so that it seems more evocative of the old "Beach Blanket" films and less of a downer. You can even see the wheels inside the PR copywriters' heads turning and feel their body English as they reach and stretch to describe this film: "Join the good times at the 'Boynton Beach Club'--where the fun never sets!" and "Celebrate life, love, and finding happiness again in this heartwarming comedy that proves 60 is the new 40!"
Okay, but if you're expecting a traditional romantic comedy geared for geriatrics, you might be disappointed. For one thing, aside from moments you can count on both hands, "Boynton Beach Club" doesn't deliver all that many laughs. It also doesn't follow the typical structure (boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy gets girl) of a romantic comedy, nor does it incorporate nearly as many plot twists that complicate a romantic comedy and quicken the pacing, sometimes so much that we have to term them "screwball."
If anything, "Boynton Beach Club" comes closer to what we've seen on television--a more serious and protracted episode of "Golden Girls," or a seniors cruise version of "The Love Boat." Though there's no ship, the tone, pacing, background music, and interwoven stories are certainly evocative of that popular '70s show, and enough B-list and former A-list celebrities who were highly visible that decade climb the gangplank. Joseph Bologna, Dyan Cannon, Sally Kellerman, and Brenda Vaccaro are joined by Len Cariou and Michael Nouri in what turns out to be a slice-of-senior-life ensemble film set in the retirement community of Boynton Beach, Florida. Welcome to the world of water aerobics, sympathy casseroles, all-you-can-eat buffets, pinochle groups, senior dances, bereavement clubs, and grandchildren in the pool.
Much of "Boynton Beach Club" feels authentic, and we have a number of things to thank for that. Director Susan Seidelman's mother, Florence, who lives in Florida, knew plenty of seniors who were unexpectedly single after being with the same person for 40-50 years--sometimes, since high school. She was the one who got the idea for the film and submitted a rough script to her daughter, who restructured it and punched it up a bit with the help of Shelly Gitlow. And thanks to the low-budget nature of the film and the fact that it was so far from big cities with card-carrying SAG members, we get, as extras, real seniors from Boynton Beach where it was filmed. Some of them, we learn on the commentary, were even members of the real bereavement club.
The film opens promisingly enough, with an engaging character named Marty (a Florida comedian in real life named Mal Z. Lawrence) doing his morning exercise routine to the headphones' tune of "Mama Loves Mambo." It's not exactly power-walking that he does, nor is it dancing because he covers as much ground as the walkers, but the screen is filled with energy when he's on-camera. Then, in an early sequence, he's struck by a car driven by a woman yakking on her cell phone as she was backing out of her driveway. And he's killed. That sets the whole plot in motion as we meet his widow, Marilyn (Vaccaro), an overweight woman who suddenly has to learn how to pay the bills, how to drive, and how to do everything else that Marty did when he was alive. We're also introduced, via funeral, to Jack (Cariou), who is suddenly inundated with tuna casseroles and lasagnas and single elderly women who all want to make themselves available to him if he needs anyone to "talk to," which of course is code for "hook up with."
Without comparing the rough and shooting scripts it's impossible to tell where things began to go off-the-mark, but it seems that all the authenticity of senior life has the unfortunate counterweight of clichés that transcend the generations. But the biggest problem is that infernal background music and pacing that's so slow and leisurely it makes you feel like you've been standing in the wrong line at the supermarket-the one where the customers just have to talk about their grandchildren or aches and pains while blissfully unaware that the line behind them is growing. There's just not a strong narrative arc. Everything seems even-keeled, with no crises or sub-crises of any consequence to add variety. Even the relationships proceed without many obstacles and without any real complications except for a few lies followed quickly by acceptance.
Okay, but if you're expecting a traditional romantic comedy geared for geriatrics, you might be disappointed. For one thing, aside from moments you can count on both hands, "Boynton Beach Club" doesn't deliver all that many laughs. It also doesn't follow the typical structure (boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy gets girl) of a romantic comedy, nor does it incorporate nearly as many plot twists that complicate a romantic comedy and quicken the pacing, sometimes so much that we have to term them "screwball."
If anything, "Boynton Beach Club" comes closer to what we've seen on television--a more serious and protracted episode of "Golden Girls," or a seniors cruise version of "The Love Boat." Though there's no ship, the tone, pacing, background music, and interwoven stories are certainly evocative of that popular '70s show, and enough B-list and former A-list celebrities who were highly visible that decade climb the gangplank. Joseph Bologna, Dyan Cannon, Sally Kellerman, and Brenda Vaccaro are joined by Len Cariou and Michael Nouri in what turns out to be a slice-of-senior-life ensemble film set in the retirement community of Boynton Beach, Florida. Welcome to the world of water aerobics, sympathy casseroles, all-you-can-eat buffets, pinochle groups, senior dances, bereavement clubs, and grandchildren in the pool.
Much of "Boynton Beach Club" feels authentic, and we have a number of things to thank for that. Director Susan Seidelman's mother, Florence, who lives in Florida, knew plenty of seniors who were unexpectedly single after being with the same person for 40-50 years--sometimes, since high school. She was the one who got the idea for the film and submitted a rough script to her daughter, who restructured it and punched it up a bit with the help of Shelly Gitlow. And thanks to the low-budget nature of the film and the fact that it was so far from big cities with card-carrying SAG members, we get, as extras, real seniors from Boynton Beach where it was filmed. Some of them, we learn on the commentary, were even members of the real bereavement club.
The film opens promisingly enough, with an engaging character named Marty (a Florida comedian in real life named Mal Z. Lawrence) doing his morning exercise routine to the headphones' tune of "Mama Loves Mambo." It's not exactly power-walking that he does, nor is it dancing because he covers as much ground as the walkers, but the screen is filled with energy when he's on-camera. Then, in an early sequence, he's struck by a car driven by a woman yakking on her cell phone as she was backing out of her driveway. And he's killed. That sets the whole plot in motion as we meet his widow, Marilyn (Vaccaro), an overweight woman who suddenly has to learn how to pay the bills, how to drive, and how to do everything else that Marty did when he was alive. We're also introduced, via funeral, to Jack (Cariou), who is suddenly inundated with tuna casseroles and lasagnas and single elderly women who all want to make themselves available to him if he needs anyone to "talk to," which of course is code for "hook up with."
Without comparing the rough and shooting scripts it's impossible to tell where things began to go off-the-mark, but it seems that all the authenticity of senior life has the unfortunate counterweight of clichés that transcend the generations. But the biggest problem is that infernal background music and pacing that's so slow and leisurely it makes you feel like you've been standing in the wrong line at the supermarket-the one where the customers just have to talk about their grandchildren or aches and pains while blissfully unaware that the line behind them is growing. There's just not a strong narrative arc. Everything seems even-keeled, with no crises or sub-crises of any consequence to add variety. Even the relationships proceed without many obstacles and without any real complications except for a few lies followed quickly by acceptance.
This low-budget, limited-release film was originally titled "The Boynton Beach Bereavement Club," but the DVD marketers wisely chose to shorten the title so that it seems more evocative of the old "Beach Blanket" films and less of a downer. You can even see the wheels inside the PR copywriters' heads turning and feel their body English as they reach and stretch to describe this film: "Join the good times at the 'Boynton Beach Club'--where the fun never sets!" and "Celebrate life, love, and finding happiness again in this heartwarming comedy that proves 60 is the new 40!"
Okay, but if you're expecting a traditional romantic comedy geared for geriatrics, you might be disappointed. For one thing, aside from moments you can count on both hands, "Boynton Beach Club" doesn't deliver all that many laughs. It also doesn't follow the typical structure (boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy gets girl) of a romantic comedy, nor does it incorporate nearly as many plot twists that complicate a romantic comedy and quicken the pacing, sometimes so much that we have to term them "screwball."
If anything, "Boynton Beach Club" comes closer to what we've seen on television--a more serious and protracted episode of "Golden Girls," or a seniors cruise version of "The Love Boat." Though there's no ship, the tone, pacing, background music, and interwoven stories are certainly evocative of that popular '70s show, and enough B-list and former A-list celebrities who were highly visible that decade climb the gangplank. Joseph Bologna, Dyan Cannon, Sally Kellerman, and Brenda Vaccaro are joined by Len Cariou and Michael Nouri in what turns out to be a slice-of-senior-life ensemble film set in the retirement community of Boynton Beach, Florida. Welcome to the world of water aerobics, sympathy casseroles, all-you-can-eat buffets, pinochle groups, senior dances, bereavement clubs, and grandchildren in the pool.
Much of "Boynton Beach Club" feels authentic, and we have a number of things to thank for that. Director Susan Seidelman's mother, Florence, who lives in Florida, knew plenty of seniors who were unexpectedly single after being with the same person for 40-50 years--sometimes, since high school. She was the one who got the idea for the film and submitted a rough script to her daughter, who restructured it and punched it up a bit with the help of Shelly Gitlow. And thanks to the low-budget nature of the film and the fact that it was so far from big cities with card-carrying SAG members, we get, as extras, real seniors from Boynton Beach where it was filmed. Some of them, we learn on the commentary, were even members of the real bereavement club.
The film opens promisingly enough, with an engaging character named Marty (a Florida comedian in real life named Mal Z. Lawrence) doing his morning exercise routine to the headphones' tune of "Mama Loves Mambo." It's not exactly power-walking that he does, nor is it dancing because he covers as much ground as the walkers, but the screen is filled with energy when he's on-camera. Then, in an early sequence, he's struck by a car driven by a woman yakking on her cell phone as she was backing out of her driveway. And he's killed. That sets the whole plot in motion as we meet his widow, Marilyn (Vaccaro), an overweight woman who suddenly has to learn how to pay the bills, how to drive, and how to do everything else that Marty did when he was alive. We're also introduced, via funeral, to Jack (Cariou), who is suddenly inundated with tuna casseroles and lasagnas and single elderly women who all want to make themselves available to him if he needs anyone to "talk to," which of course is code for "hook up with."
Without comparing the rough and shooting scripts it's impossible to tell where things began to go off-the-mark, but it seems that all the authenticity of senior life has the unfortunate counterweight of clichés that transcend the generations. But the biggest problem is that infernal background music and pacing that's so slow and leisurely it makes you feel like you've been standing in the wrong line at the supermarket-the one where the customers just have to talk about their grandchildren or aches and pains while blissfully unaware that the line behind them is growing. There's just not a strong narrative arc. Everything seems even-keeled, with no crises or sub-crises of any consequence to add variety. Even the relationships proceed without many obstacles and without any real complications except for a few lies followed quickly by acceptance.
Okay, but if you're expecting a traditional romantic comedy geared for geriatrics, you might be disappointed. For one thing, aside from moments you can count on both hands, "Boynton Beach Club" doesn't deliver all that many laughs. It also doesn't follow the typical structure (boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy gets girl) of a romantic comedy, nor does it incorporate nearly as many plot twists that complicate a romantic comedy and quicken the pacing, sometimes so much that we have to term them "screwball."
If anything, "Boynton Beach Club" comes closer to what we've seen on television--a more serious and protracted episode of "Golden Girls," or a seniors cruise version of "The Love Boat." Though there's no ship, the tone, pacing, background music, and interwoven stories are certainly evocative of that popular '70s show, and enough B-list and former A-list celebrities who were highly visible that decade climb the gangplank. Joseph Bologna, Dyan Cannon, Sally Kellerman, and Brenda Vaccaro are joined by Len Cariou and Michael Nouri in what turns out to be a slice-of-senior-life ensemble film set in the retirement community of Boynton Beach, Florida. Welcome to the world of water aerobics, sympathy casseroles, all-you-can-eat buffets, pinochle groups, senior dances, bereavement clubs, and grandchildren in the pool.
Much of "Boynton Beach Club" feels authentic, and we have a number of things to thank for that. Director Susan Seidelman's mother, Florence, who lives in Florida, knew plenty of seniors who were unexpectedly single after being with the same person for 40-50 years--sometimes, since high school. She was the one who got the idea for the film and submitted a rough script to her daughter, who restructured it and punched it up a bit with the help of Shelly Gitlow. And thanks to the low-budget nature of the film and the fact that it was so far from big cities with card-carrying SAG members, we get, as extras, real seniors from Boynton Beach where it was filmed. Some of them, we learn on the commentary, were even members of the real bereavement club.
The film opens promisingly enough, with an engaging character named Marty (a Florida comedian in real life named Mal Z. Lawrence) doing his morning exercise routine to the headphones' tune of "Mama Loves Mambo." It's not exactly power-walking that he does, nor is it dancing because he covers as much ground as the walkers, but the screen is filled with energy when he's on-camera. Then, in an early sequence, he's struck by a car driven by a woman yakking on her cell phone as she was backing out of her driveway. And he's killed. That sets the whole plot in motion as we meet his widow, Marilyn (Vaccaro), an overweight woman who suddenly has to learn how to pay the bills, how to drive, and how to do everything else that Marty did when he was alive. We're also introduced, via funeral, to Jack (Cariou), who is suddenly inundated with tuna casseroles and lasagnas and single elderly women who all want to make themselves available to him if he needs anyone to "talk to," which of course is code for "hook up with."
Without comparing the rough and shooting scripts it's impossible to tell where things began to go off-the-mark, but it seems that all the authenticity of senior life has the unfortunate counterweight of clichés that transcend the generations. But the biggest problem is that infernal background music and pacing that's so slow and leisurely it makes you feel like you've been standing in the wrong line at the supermarket-the one where the customers just have to talk about their grandchildren or aches and pains while blissfully unaware that the line behind them is growing. There's just not a strong narrative arc. Everything seems even-keeled, with no crises or sub-crises of any consequence to add variety. Even the relationships proceed without many obstacles and without any real complications except for a few lies followed quickly by acceptance.
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