The crackling malice of Shirley MacLaine’s performance is the spark that illuminates this comedy about mortality and legacy, which is as grindingly inevitable – and protracted – as death itself. MacLaine is bracingly unpleasant as Harriet Lauler, the micromanaging former advertising executive who decides to commission her own obituary from the local paper. Amanda Seyfried plays Anne, the writer who has to immortalise the woman who “puts the bitch into obituary”. But when Anne discovers that nobody has a good word to say about Harriet, she hits a wall. The two women bond over a shared love of music – both prefer vinyl, Hollywood’s shorthand signifier du jour for authenticity and a maverick spirit. And, with a cute underprivileged pre-teen child in tow, they set out to create a new obit-friendly legacy for Harriet.
With its off-the-mark proclamations about the Kinks and hi-fi nerd jargon, this feels like a screenplay written by someone who once read about music on Wikipedia but prefers not to listen to it. And the story trajectory – animosity transforms into a life-changing friendship – is as familiar a riff as a 12-bar blues.
