Lucky

This is an odd film in that it's more about celebrating the life of its leading actor rather than really trying to tell any kinda particular story or advance any kind of thesis. Harry Dean Stanton as the titular "Lucky" is over 90 and aging in a quiet desert town somewhere obscure. We follow him around town, meeting friends, hanging out in a bar, and wandering back and forth. IT's the kind of film that works scene-to-scene rather than necessarily as a whole movie - there's minor subplots going on (in particular, a nice one with David Lynch and a pet turtle), but there's nothing really particularly overpowering holding this together.

It's sorta an extended death tease, where Stanton's mortality is front and centre without ever actually reaching the inevitable conclusion. And for me, I kinda need more than this. The inevitable point of comparison, a Harry-Dean-Stanton centred film set in the middle of the desert with minimal plot, "Paris Texas", is a film that has immesurably more going on, partially due to Sam Sheperd's minimalist but carefully structured script, partially due to Wim Wender's deliberate and intense direction. Neither are the case here - instead, this feels very loosely put together, and, thus, is more of a middling memorial rather than a piece of true art.