Last Orders is a huge bummer, and not just because it's about a bunch of old Brits taking their dead friend's ashes to the seashore. No, this film is a drag because those oldsters (and their dead friend) are played by most of my favorite working-class British actors--Tom Courtenay, Bob Hoskins, David Hemmings, Michael Caine as the deceased, Ray Winstone as his son, and the great Helen Mirren as his widow--and the film they're in is a big sentimental sinkhole, though it pretends not to be.

The structure meanders through flashbacks, framed by the survivors' journey, which is also dotted with digressions. Unsurprisingly, the modern-day bits are terrific; the banter is charming and effective, even though the scenes are fraught with portent, and build to predictable revelations.

It's when Schepisi cuts to the young versions of these characters that the dew begins to glisten. The youngsters just don't have what it takes to carry off a believable connection to their familiar elders, which makes a triumph over the bathos of bereavement drama all the more difficult.