A terminally ill writer attempts to set his affairs in order before his death.
It’s a cruel bit of word play but blend ‘incurable’ and ‘terminal’ and you get ‘interminable’; the bones are here for something special, but Hurt’s sterling work is let down by other departments.
This is a star vehicle. Hurt gets nearly all of the best lines and hogs most of the closeups too.
Poor script, unremarkable filmmaking and some terrible performances, except from Charles Dance and Hurt, whose laugh made me cry.
Sentimental drama from director Eric Styles, notable for John Hurt's final leading role.
Sadly, he’s the best thing in this over-sentimental drama about a gruff writer’s final days in picture-perfect Portugal.
Eric Styles’s film fails to match its star’s performance as a spiteful dying writer.
John Hurt, by his final director: 'Impish, unsentimental--and as generous as Julie Andrews'.