One Paragraph Movie Review: The Lost Weekend

Three hundred and thirty-fifth film: The Lost Weekend, a realistic downward spiral of a picture from 1945 that feels like a dirty ashtray. The story of Don Birnam, a would-be writer and is-definitely alcoholic, it shows a long weekend in which he lies, cheats, steals, and scruffily tumbles towards rock bottom, all via multiple bottles of cheap rye. This murky bit pulls no punches and feels familiar to anyone who’s ever craved a vice, and you can see which whiskey glasses it pulled all its Oscars out of. I liked the bar lush Gloria’s ‘ridic’ habit of shortening words. I liked the increasing number of wet rings on the bar counter to show the passing of time. I liked Nat the barman sighing “one’s too many and a hundred’s not enough” while pouring Don a reluctant shot. I hated the delirium tremens scene where an imaginary bat violently murders an imaginary mouse. And I was annoyed by the suddenly chipper, Hays code-influenced happy ending. But yep. Three and three-quarter closed Yom Kippur pawn shops out of five.