SPACE COWBOYS

Directed by and starring Clint Eastwood. Also starring Tommy Lee Jones, James Garner, Donald Sutherland, James Cromwell

The mere concept of Clint Eastwood, Tommy Lee Jones and all the other aforementioned geriatrics striking out into space is so fantastically out-there it defies logic that someone actually deemed it worthy of a movie. Thank Christ they did: I haven't laughed as heartily through a film since Hollow Man (which I only saw the day beforehand), and my cheeks were truly aching by the time the whole glorious affair wrapped up.

Clint's output of late (Bridges of Madison County, True Crime, Absolute Power, Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil) has been duller and drearier than a hundred back-to-back episodes of Coronation Street, but this one single-handedly redresses the balance. He has recruited practically the entire nursing-home for the purposes of the exercise: the roll-call indicated by the cast list reads like a Who's Who of Hollywood fossils, and you can hear every bone creaking as they shuffle along their merry way.

The plot's pretty bog-standard: a semi-retired failed astronaut (Clint) gets called up by NASA to save the day when a Russian satellite is about to crash to Earth. The pesky commies have nicked what was once NASA's top-secret design, and only the engineer who devised the guidance system can prevent said device (a ferociously clunky, Stalin-esque affair, with 'CCCP' written in Western lettering...) from plummeting to Earth and endangering American lives. Clint agrees to the assignment, on condition that he can re-recruit (exhume?) his original team. Cue Messrs. Jones, Garner and Sutherland - or what remains of them - all bandying together for one last ride to save the Stars and Stripes.

Although the film's political stance obviously errs on the Cold-Warrior side, it's best to ignore the context and marvel at the dinosaur parade as they drink, fight, womanize and do all the things that men ought to do, while finding time to indulge in foggy reminiscences of those halcyon days when they could walk without groaning. At least half-a-dozen scenes are utterly unmissable, as the troupe's assignment requires them to keep fit - thus, we get treated to the wondrous spectacle of them almost-jogging their way around an athletics track in an advanced sate of near-decomposition. (Presumably, the late Peig Sayers was unavailable as the sultry love-interest temptress).

Meanwhile, they're up against it on the save-the-day front, as it would appear that some treacherous ingrate within the vain-glorious space programme has thrown his lot in with the red menace. It couldn't possibly be Clint's former nemesis, Mr. Rent-A-Corrupt-Official himself, James Cromwell? Would it fuck. The events themselves proceed to unfold in flawlessly predictable fashion: every gag, every plot turn, and every line of dialogue can be spotted approaching from several miles in advance, but it's precisely this factor which renders Space Cowboys such a uniquely mirthful viewing experience. The codger-camaraderie between the crew is a wondrous phenomenon to behold, their collective physical decrepitude simply begs to be savoured, and the sight of a space-suited Tommy Lee Jones floating solo in front of the Earth just doesn't come along in every lifetime. On ironic grounds alone, Space Cowboys must be a serious contender for surprise movie of the year.