We haven't been able to take payment
You must update your payment details via My Account or by clicking update payment details to keep your subscription.
Act now to keep your subscription
We've tried to contact you several times as we haven't been able to take payment. You must update your payment details via My Account or by clicking update payment details to keep your subscription.
Your subscription is due to terminate
We've tried to contact you several times as we haven't been able to take payment. You must update your payment details via My Account, otherwise your subscription will terminate.

The Bucket List

The message is a sentimental homily that you might read in a greeting card: its tone felt patronising

Saintly Morgan Freeman and rakish Jack Nicholson are practically parodies of their onscreen personas in The Bucket List. Freeman radiates Zen calm and wisdom; Nicholson tears up the screen with a performance so huge that it barely fits into the cinema.

The pair play terminal cancer patients who decide to fulfil all their ambitions in one desperate race to beat the mortality clock. Conveniently, barring an occasional catheter malfunction, their symptoms seem to abate just long enough for a series of adventures in glossy, exotic locales. They drive recklessly in vintage sports cars; muse on the nature of true love at the Taj Mahal and leap out of planes in search of whatever was missing from their two very different lives.

The message of the film is a sentimental homily you might read in a greeting card; its tone felt patronising and potentially rather offensive to people actually enduring the painful, humiliating process of dying.

12A, 96 mins

Advertisement