Review – The Last Days of Disco

How sad it must be to have no greater ambition than to be the next Bret Easton Ellis. Sadder still it must be to not even rise to this relatively humble aspiration. Set against the pseudo-Babylon backdrop of the New York club scene in the early eighties, our drama here consists of little more than vapid yuppies engaging in endless dialogue about their meaningless, flailing lives. Sure, you get some disco era clichés stirred in, like cocaine and herpes (or is it AIDS? It’s kinda hard to tell). Indeed, one of the film’s high points is the injection of news coverage of the anti-disco protest riot in Chicago edited in such a way as to suggest the helicopters taking off from the roof of the U.S. embassy in Saigon. But for the most part the entertainment level rarely rises above the amusement value of an extended conversation about the sexual politics of Lady and the Tramp, and more often than not doesn’t even attain this relatively humble plateau. See if desperate