"TELL ME MY GODDAMN THOUGHTS!"
Mike Nichols' bitter, angry take-down of toxic masculinity progresses as a series of insular set pieces, each depicting the hollowing of womanisers Jack Nicholson and Art Garfunkel, each a despicable manipulator in their own way.
As time moves on, these two assholes refuse to, their inertia manifesting itself as a deep, painful ugliness that only the strongest of delusions can keep at bay. The final scenes are tragic, two lost souls clinging to narcissism as their sole form of life-blood but dying anyway.
Nicholson is stunning as always, managing to sell potentially ludicrous lines with a conviction unmatched, but it's Garfunkel who surprised me, his baby faced nice guy portrayal both prescient and sickening -…