This film is a real triumph for Henry Jaglom. It's his first really mature film. His previous works have been patchy, to say the least. Though never uninteresting, as works of art they are flawed by Jaglom's personal fascinations which might not necessarily be shared by others. He's come a long way since his first movie "A Safe Place" where he gathered the likes of Jack Nicholson, Orson Welles and Tuesday Weld, but still managed to produce a confused, over indulgent and basically forgettable film.

However all is forgiven. Jaglom finally gets it right. The characters are truly interesting, more so of course, if you have an interest in the theater. While keenly critical of the often insufferable egos on display, there's an underlying affection for them all which is genuinely winning.

Jaglom has assembled a large, varied and extremely colorful cast playing their characters with a level of identification that it's almost like watching a documentary. After these are actors playing actors, or in the case of Jon Robin Baitz, a playwright playing a playwright. And then there's the luminous Viveca Lindfors at the helm. The scene of her watching her past movies on television and commenting on them, has a touching poignancy.

Lindfors is fascinating to watch. It's a role she must have relished and one far more revealing than she may have realized. While she's wise of life and the theater, she's manipulating, demanding and all in all highly egoistic. Lindfors was a beauty and an undoubtedly very capable actress, particular in her later roles. She made some 100 movies and yet not one of them is in any way remarkable or indeed memorable. Yet to watch her in this semi-documentary role, one senses she has a sense of self importance as an actress not at all related to what was by all accounts a mediocre career.

"Last Summer in the Hamptons" has a sense of celebration about it. While the celebration is the production of Chekov in the garden of wonderful house about to be sold, it's a celebration of the theater itself and the dreams, frustrations and passions of those who are captivated by the illusions and delusions of the theatrical ethos.

Henry Jaglom is the Woody Allen light (0 calories, 0 talent) of American film. His films (most of which he writes) are filled with unctuous pseudo intellectuals who do a vast amount of talking and very little listening. Filled with self importance they name drop ferociously and go from dull and tiresome conversation into mawkish rages that border on infantile.

In Last Summer in the Hamptons we are given the same crowd, this time as a theatrical family faced with selling there Long Island estate. Along with friends they all gather at the home for the last performance of the annual summer's end play. Enter your cross section cast of smarmy empty self important characters. The Matriarch, the Hollywood actress, father son playwrights at odds with each other and assorted precocious types age 16 to 60. Jaglom then patches the rest of the film together with mix and match conversations done in mostly two shot with some of the most annoying use of zoom this side of Spike Lee.

The dialogue which sounds like it was mostly improvised is stilted and flat save for some hammy flourishes by Viveca Lindfors. As Oona the LA actress, Victoria Foyt acts as if she's stranded on a raft in the middle of the ocean, clumsily pausing and searching for words, groping the other actors as if drowning. Given co-writer credit you would think she might have a better grasp of the script.

The rest of the cast is equally unremarkable because of Jaglom's sloppy inability as a director to get his actors to raise the heat above tepid. It's clear Jaglom's working on a shoestring budget knows a few people in the business and makes the most of what he has. I usually admire scrappy auteurs like Herzog and Fuller who have to sacrifice for their independence, but with that freedom must come form, content and talent, none of which Jaglom displays in this pompous loser.

Henry Jaglom, a film maker as much tied to the New York theater world as he is to Hollywood, writes and directs a story well-keyed to his split loyalties.

A Hollywood actress about to sign on for her umpteenth reprise of a commercially successful but cartoonish role longs for artistic redemption and a full workout of her instrument. She travels with a friend to a dying temple of private summer theater in East Hampton, New York. There she visits with a legendary actress (Viveca Lundfors) and her extended family as they mount their last summer play before selling their long held homestead.

The family members are neurotically, hopelessly tied and dedicated to each other - tearing at each other for understanding while upstaging each other. The Chekovian scale and tone of this screenplay are both well met - the dying estate, the large ensemble and tumbling scenic structure. There is much of Woody Allen, Ingmar Bergman, John Cassavetes and Chekov here. The scenes are tightly written, and deftly played - and very likely improvised off and on. Andre Gregory does a funny turn with Victoria Foyt in one wrestling scene. Melissa Leo, drenched in longing as Trish, hits some fabulous peaks. Victoria Foyt as Oona is also strong. Lundfors thoroughly understands her role as a legendary matriarch whose attempts at self-effacement never quite ring true.

This is a funny, loving look into the foibles of a theater family -- their fatuously ego-driven yet heart rending issues. For theater lovers and mature fans of Ibsen, Chekov, Joyce, Mike Leigh, Bergman or Allen "Last Summer" will be satisfying. For others, be forewarned. You may miss the point.

It's hard to say how to describe this movie. I suppose that's because I don't often see others of its kind, which is too bad. It'd be nice to have a model to cite; though I guess it aspires to Renoir (see below).

Elements: Head games at every turn. Interesting scenario: Latest Hollywood hot property, poised to ascend to iconhood, visits rootsy theatrical community on the skids, hoping to rediscover art. Chekhovian; everybody is an angelic jerk. Serious and fairly effective pilfering of Jean Renoir's "La Regle du jeu," esp. the capturing of that web of head/heart intrigue you can cut with a knife. Are these people really a dying breed? Does their infighting and endless one-upsmanship mindf**king make you long for the warmth and sincerity of Hollywood? A touch of James Joyce. An aging grand dame of Hollywood. A weird, dark family secret. Great, harrowing self-deception, and great drama. At times I was moved, sometimes with a portrait of hope for something great in the human heart, once by the overpowering darkness of one of the family secrets. Some very good writing, some tremendous acting. For example, the scene where Oona goes to see her producer at a sandwich shop; their dialog, and that last moment where he's trying to get a kiss out of her and she's barely resisting--one of the best moments I've seen on film.

If you like good acting, thick psychological stuff, colorful characters, preening never-been jackasses, and deep humanity, see this film.

A young Hollywood actress, eager for an Actor's Studio-style broadening experience, has the "priviledge" of visiting the eccentric dysfunctional members of an extended theater family at their estate on Long Island, the matriarch of which is herself a former Hollywood screen actress.

Right off the bat, we can determine that this is not a film for the general movie-viewing public, because it simply isn't. Not too many folks care to sit through a jumbled talk-fest in which a bunch of self-important, self-obsessed, often abrasively annoying "theater people" cut into each, talk over each and steal off each other's plates.

But as bad as it sounds, the film is- at its heart- is a truly biting comedy in the droll Woody Allen/Robert Altman style, which takes well-deserved swipes at these type of characters. They're annoying and shallow for a reason. Nevertheless, if one has never at some point experienced these type of personalities in their own lives, this film could very well be meaningless and mind-numbingly pointless.

The central character, the young actress played by Victoria Foyt, seems at first to be the most sympathetic and well-grounded participant despite her nagging insecurities about her craft. But still, she is seen at every turn transforming her visit into a suck-up fest as she tries to garner an ever-changing toehold into theater from whomever will grant her one.

For those who are game- and it does get better with repeated viewings- there is a lot of humanity and warmth under all the dysfunction on display, and Foyt and Lindfors are standouts in a cast that does a good job of inhabiting characters who clearly need to get over themselves.

If, like me, you don't know much about legitimate theater and how serious actors learn their craft, nor how that contrasts with Hollywood's business, you will find this a pleasurable and informative look into an actors' retreat and workshop.

Victoria Foyt stars as a young actress made famous by a starring role in films about a Wonder Woman super hero. She has managed to be invited to a retreat run by a Grand Dame of legitimate theater, played by Grand Dame of legitimate theater Viveca Lindfors in her last role. Besides her acting role, Victoria Foyt is also listed as one of the writers of the movie, and maybe had something to do with getting it made. I had never heard of Victoria Foyt but thought she was truly outstanding, particularly in her training exercises playing a variety of animals. Maybe she wrote the script as a means of showcasing her talent.

I found the movie to be thoroughly enjoyable.

Saw this film in a festival a few years ago and was deeply disappointed. It is a tale of a theatre family and their ups and downs during a summer in the trendy suburbs, but that's where the interest of this viewer ended.

Filmed in a dull style which reminded me of creaky home movies, this film is stodgy, poorly-written, and half-baked. It represents the last film performance of the late Roddy MacDowell and he is totally wasted in the role he has.

I heard that this film was supposed to be influenced by the great dramas of Russia and Scandinavia, and by film auteurs such as Woody Allen and Mike Leigh. I'll take all their work before I'd watch 'Last Summer in the Hamptons' again.

I work in the film exhibition industry, for 20 years now, and this is without a doubt one of the worst films I have ever had the misfortune to sit through. The wrestling scene one of the other commentors describes as "a funny turn" I found to so embarassing that I was squirming in my seat while watching it. The improvisation was so bad that I found myself pacing back and forth in the back of the auditorium trying not to walk out of the screening. I have watched 3 hour movies that passed more quickly than this film. Martha Plimptons improv scene where she descibes a late-nite rendevous was particularly BAD!! And the plot device where one character gives another his sweater, which he then wears around his waist for the entire rest of the summer, was so predictible, that I knew right away that something was gonna happen to the recipeint. Bad movie all the way around!!

What I mean by my subject line is that I am watching this on HBO on my TV, but came in late and haven't paid full attention while I am doing some other things. Which is why I scheduled it to record on my DVR the next time it is on in about a week. Maybe I can find it available at our public library and see it sooner.

However from what I have already ready in these reviews and from what I have seen of the movie, I somewhat differ from the negative reviews and am enjoying it and will enjoy it as much or more when I get a chance to see the whole thing.

While it probably won no Oscars, not everything will but that doesn't make it bad.

For my tastes, the large number of familiar cast members, the easy and often funny dialog, and the low-key progression of scenes is just doing it for me right now. It does get weird from time to time.

I don't know the writer but someone mentioned Woody Allen and it definitely has that W.A. tone to it. There is almost nothing from W.A. that I haven't enjoyed.

Comedy where???? A load of poseurs and wannabe intellectuals strut about and act like morons. And endlessly, monotonously search for 'ze meaning of lieeefe'. They whine on and on, ad nauseam about art and acting and examine their navels until you want to scream. Yawn, it felt about five hours long. Oh and of course we have to have the childish social justice nonsense about everything. It feels as if everyone wasparticipating in a poor improvisation exercise. Tedious, tedious and more so. I'm being ultra generous giving it five stars. There is really no true intellectual interest in even five minutes of this nonsense. Avoid!