He runs into a problem when he finds Mathilde, a refined old lady, living there with her protective daughter, Chloe and they have no intention of leaving. He is then reached an impasse after learning that Mathilde can legally collect regular payments from him until her death. How will he do in such an awkward situation?
My Old Lady feels as stubbornly stuck in that expansive and underlit apartment as Madame Girard herself, and you may find yourself bolting for a lungful of relief.
Just when you think the story is going to proceed on a well-worn, cosily romantic track, its characters unpack their emotional baggage, revealing unexpected depths of hurt and taking the film into bittersweet dramatic territory.
Kline's character is an alcoholic and not exactly lovable, but we come to empathize. Smith, the grande dame of British theater and film, is wickedly wry and quick.
There's a potentially compelling movie here about the price that children pay-over entire lifetimes-for their parents' selfish indulgences, but it winds up smothered in feel-good cuteness.
As we learn more about the tormented family backgrounds, broken love affairs and suicide attempts of the protagonists, the film begins to sag under the weight of its characters' mounting self-pity.
