This post-menopausal channeling of Grumpy Old Men starts off promising, and then.... Sony has waited a long time to release a TV movie I'm not sure anyone is too interested in seeing: 2001's all-star reunion bitchfest, These Old Broads, starring Elizabeth Taylor, Debbie Reynolds, Shirley MacLaine and Joan Collins. Co-written by Reynolds' daughter, script doctor-to-the-stars Carrie Fisher, These Old Broads should have been much funnier, much less faux-"meaningful," and a hell of lot shorter - and at a trim 89 minutes, that yawning sensation ought to tell you this was a 10-minute sketch stretched far too long. Fans of the stars might want to check it out, but it's a wasted opportunity.

To the surprise of everyone in Hollywood, the re-release of an old 1960s musical, Boy Crazy, has ignited the national box-office, reheating interest in the barely lukewarm careers of its "has-been geriatrics" cast: movie icons Kate Westbourne (Shirley MacLaine), Piper Grayson (Debbie Reynolds), and Addie Holden (Joan Collins). Pompous TV executive Gavin (Nestor Carbonell), helping himself to a new idea from his assistant, hatches a plan to enlist small-fry documentary maker Wesley Westbourne (Jonathan Silverman), the adopted son of Kate, into gathering the three recalcitrant actresses together for a TV reunion special - no small trick considering the actresses hate each other's guts. But no sooner than you can say, "Hey, isn't this movie just a pallid, inept rip-off of The Sunshine Boys?" the girls are pulling on their tights and crashing into each other as they try to learn their new dances moves...while also desperately dodging each others' deadly verbal barbs. And it's all thanks to the efforts of their former agent, zaftig scene-chewer, Beryl Mason (Elizabeth Taylor). Complicating matters is the arrival of sex bomb Addie's mobster boyfriend Tony (Pat Harrington); Addie's subsequent pursuit of Piper's ding-a-ling husband Bill (Peter Graves), some "Is he or isn't he?" questions about not only Wesley's true parentage but also his sexuality, and of course, the always-present danger that someone might fall and break their hip.

SPOILERS ALERT!

I must admit that when I saw These Old Broads promoed back in 2001, I didn't want to go anywhere near it. Certainly not because one might describe it as appealing strictly to women (and perhaps a segment of the gay population, as the film itself readily admits); I don't have a problem with "chick flicks." As I've written many times before: Lifetime Movie Channel is always a solid go-to destination for me when I'm in the mood for coarse, unadulterated melodrama. But I have great affection for these stars, and these kinds of TV reunion films - particularly ones that center so much on the so-called comical aspects of aging - always seem to come off as embarrassments at the expense of the stars' iconic images. And These Old Broads is no different. While the film initially makes a big show of treating these "old broads" as just that - tough cookies who give back better than they get, and who don't need to be mollycoddled by a dismissive industry - ultimately, the poor scripting sinks the project, and we're subjected to what we feared most: great stars spouting faux-daring sex lines and rolling around on the floor, acting like asses.

During the opening section of the film, I was pleasantly surprised to see the film not take the usual route with this kind of reunion grouping: we weren't asked to love these characters (and by extension, of course, the stars) just because they were plucky and "cute" and precious with their foul-mouthed antics. At first, there seemed to be an effort to dispel any such notions of precociousness, instead focusing agreeably on how genuinely annoying and acerbic each character was in context with each other and within the slight story. And I'll admit that there's enjoyable shock value in seeing "America's Sweetheart" Debbie Reynolds (who never struck me as "sweet" but as a tough pro) discussing the "drying" effect menopause had on her body. Soon, however, the effect of each star's constant bawdy sex talk is necessarily lessened by repetition, until precisely what we originally feared might happen, has - we're encouraged to say, "Isn't it cute how those old ladies keep talking about sex?" (the exact same negative effect that afflicted those Grumpy Old Men movies). Soon, the joke isn't coming from the actresses - the joke is the actresses, and admirable frankness becomes embarrassing exploitation.

Add to that repeated pathetic stabs at physical slapstick comedy that just don't work (all that nonsense with Pat Harrington's corpse - was that a nod to Silverman's Weekend at Bernie's?; the constant falling down of the actresses during the dress rehearsals and run-throughs), and one comes to the point where Fisher and co-scripter Elaine Pope think it's funny to see Reynold's wig snatched off her head as she and Joan Collins roll around on the ground (obviously, Postcards From the Edge didn't resolve all of Fisher's problems with her mother). This is high comedy? Obviously not. But it's not ironically-pitched low-brow comedy that we're supposed to take in good fun because the actresses are game, either. It's humiliation, ultimately, for the stars. Fisher and Pope can't help but put some funny lines and situations out there from time to time. I particularly liked the scene inside Beryl's home, when the women are sizing each other up as the camera pans back and forth. As MacLaine imperiously swishes by Collins, saying "Excuse me, Mrs. Munster," razor-thin Collins jabs back, "It's Gidget Goes to Seed." But for those isolated moments, most of the cracks in These Old Broads are distressingly familiar and tired, such as the gags about Piper's/Debbie's good-girl image versus her harder-edged reality, Kate's/Shirley's "New Age" philosophies (Christ, those kinds of jokes about MacLaine were played out ten years before this film), or jabs at Addie's/Joan's obsession with plastic surgery. By 2001, who the hell hadn't already gone there with these stars?

By the end of the film, outright desperation and pandering takes hold (the ridiculous scene in the gay disco, where Reynolds and Collins do an absurd version of Garland's Get Happy), and we're left with the final image of Elizabeth Taylor, teetering somewhat precariously, browbeating the audience to "get up off your asses for these old broads!" Cripes, what's next? Jerry Lewis singing, You'll Never Walk Alone? Certainly Taylor's performance is the saddest element of These Old Broads, not necessarily because she deserves any compassion for winding up her film career in a third-rate effort such as this (hey, we're talking about the king of all ballbusters in that "man's only" industry - she doesn't need my sympathy), but because this once-great star who could be so titanically funny and coarse (her turn in Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? remains one of film history's greatest) is but a mere shaky shadow of her former self. With an inscrutable accent that veers from Brooklyn, U.S.A. to Brighton, U.K., Taylor was obviously encouraged to overact, and she does that in spades. But her physical limitations are all we can focus on, and ultimately, this turn achieves the kind of side-show patina that encourages pity, not admiration. MacLaine, as usual in her later performances, confuses an unpleasant archness with biting, sardonic humor (only one scene, as she primps in a car, reminds us of that long-lost sweet, eccentric, sexy/sad persona that made MacLaine such a devastating sex symbol), while total pro Reynolds keeps her dignity by expertly playing off her perceived façade - until they snatch her wig off, that is. Collins, showing yet again a flair for purring sexual light comedy (she was never correctly used in comedy until Dynasty), is superior in every way to her slight material, while the rest of the cast anonymously fills in, including Silverman, whose shtick gets annoying but quick (lay...off...all...the...quizzical...pauses...and...the...incredulous...line...readings). All of the gobbledygook about his character's sexuality and parentage are ladled into the middle and final section of the film, delivering a death blow to the pace of These Old Broads, and ultimately showing it for what it truly is: a slight Saturday Night Live sketch blown out of all proportion with gimcrack melodramatics, endless, increasingly painful sex jokes, and tired, obvious irony.

The DVD:

The Video:
The anamorphically-enhanced, 1.78:1 widescreen transfer for These Old Broads (was this originally intended, perhaps, for theatrical release?) doesn't look half-bad, with solid colors, a relatively sharp image, and only faint compression issues (I saw a bit of edge enhancement, along with some interlacing - but nothing distracting). Overall, a clean, very bright image.

The Audio:
The Dolby Digital English 5.1 Surround audio mix is a surprise for this slight offering, as well, but it certainly keeps all dialogue and music crystal clear, but with only minimal separation effects. English subtitles and close-captions are available.

The Extras:
There are no extras for These Old Broads.

Final Thoughts:
A tired embarrassment for its legendary stars. What looks to be, at the start of the film, an effort to stay away from making another one of those "ain't those dirty old ladies cute?" movies turns into just that - and at the expense of great stars like Elizabeth Taylor, Shirley MacLaine, Debbie Reynolds and Joan Collins. These stars had already been poking fun at themselves for years prior to this minor TV outing, so no surprises with the supposedly ironic jabs at their established personas. Oh, and it's not particularly funny, either. You can skip These Old Broads unless you feel the desperate need to rent it for one (or all) of the stars.