A Look On The Lighter Side: Women of a certain age have fun in movie and in life

Judy Epstein

When I was in high school — back in the Paleozoic Era — a girl in search of a sport had only two choices open to her: Cheerleader? or Pom Pom Girl? And even these two “teams” existed only to cheer on the real athletes, i.e. the boys.

That is why when a movie about senior-citizen pom pom girls came to town, I made a vow to stay away. The only thing worse than pom pom girls, I knew, would be geriatric ones.

Instead, I went to see “The Hustle,” with Anne Hathaway and Rebel Wilson as female grifters conning innocent marks and each other on the French Riviera. The opening animation promised something like the old Pink Panther movies, with luxurious settings and talented actresses — what’s not to like?

There was even plenty of slapstick — mostly Rebel Wilson making fun of herself.

Of course, I don’t like slapstick, as I keep sternly reminding my husband whenever he recommends we watch some.

He replies, “You always say that, but you always laugh!”

“I can’t help it, it’s funny! But I still disapprove.”

And yet… as “The Hustle” unspooled, I found myself waiting for the laughs. And waiting. And waiting.

I wish I knew enough about movie-making to tell you if the trouble was in the writing, the acting or the directing… or some of each. All I can say for sure is that it felt like everyone was just trying too hard. By the time closing credits rolled, I was exhausted.

Or perhaps it had something to do with expectations. Because after my disappointment with “The Hustle,” I saw that “Poms,” the film about senior citizen Pom Pom girls, was in the next theater over. “What the heck,” I said, and went in.

I expected something truly dreadful … and was pleasantly surprised.

I’ve never been a big fan of its star, Diane Keaton. She was just someone to tolerate in Woody Allen’s movies for the funny lines he gave her. (“My therapist says I only need to come in six days a week!”)

Truth be told, I still find Ms. Keaton highly annoying. But I’m in good company; so do most of the people in the retirement community she moves into — at first. We learn, early in the story, that she has turned down chemotherapy, so when someone asks her, “Why did you come here?” she replies, with a perfectly straight face, “I came here to die.” And she becomes the kind of cranky neighbor who calls the community’s rent-a-cop on a friendly poker game next door.

But even annoying people can have good ideas, and Keaton’s idea, to start a senior citizens pom pom squad, grows on people until she amasses a squad of eight. The final one is Rhea Perlman, who asks her husband if she can join the squad. He replies, “Over my dead body.” Cut to: his funeral.

A lot of truth gets told in this little froth of a film: that the way we treat senior citizens can be more infantilizing than the way we treat actual infants, that men often think they’re in charge when nobody asked them and that women can sometimes be the bad guys, too.

The film really takes off, for me, when Keaton’s character makes her squad stand in front of a ballet mirror and look at themselves. After the ensuing, all-too-predictable chorus of self-deprecation, she insists they must each come up with at least one thing they like about themselves. This is a challenge: one woman likes nothing at all except her wrists.

I wished, for just a minute, that Diane Keaton was making me do that. I’m sure I could come up with something.

When the ladies finally put all their moves together, they are still no threat to the local high school girls — but that was never the point anyway. They got to live a little … and have some fun.

And that’s when I realized what had made for the difference between these two movies: only in “Poms” was anybody enjoying themselves.

As the saying goes, “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.” Turns out, it’s just as true about movies as it is about life.

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