The Last of Sheila (1973) Queer Film (B)

SCREENWRITERS: Perkins and Sondheim Have Fun!

A year after a hit‑and‑run accident killed gossip columnist Sheila Greene (Yvonne Romain) – hence, the movie’s title The Last of Sheila – her widower, movie producer Clinton Greene (James Coburn), invites six Hollywood insiders on a week‑long Mediterranean pleasure cruise aboard his yacht. The guests—actress Alice Wood (Raquel Welch) and her talent‑manager husband Anthony (Ian McShane); secretary‑turned‑superagent Christine (Dyan Cannon); screenwriter Tom Parkman (Richard Benjamin) and his wife Lee (Joan Hackett); and director Philip Dexter (James Mason)—were all – with the exception of Lee – present the night Sheila died. The cruise is, in effect, a reunion with a corpse.

Once at sea, Clinton unveils a parlor game. Each guest receives an index card labeled with a secret: Homosexual, Shoplifter, Ex‑convict, Informer, Little child molester, Blank, and—held in reserve—I am a hit‑and‑run killer. The object is to uncover everyone else’s secret while protecting one’s own. Naturally, the game becomes a trap.

The screenplay, written by Anthony Perkins and Stephen Sondheim, is the product of two brilliant gay men who adored puzzles, riddles, and elaborate party games. Their Manhattan apartments were legendary for exactly this kind of intellectual mischief. Perkins, a dazzling word‑player on Password, and Sondheim, arguably the greatest lyricist of the 20th century, pour that shared sensibility into every twist. Add director Herbert Ross—also gay, despite his marriages to Nora Kaye and Lee Radziwill—and the film becomes a rare studio picture powered almost entirely by queer wit.

The cast is uniformly strong. Raquel Welch gives one of her few genuinely good performances, and Dyan Cannon has a field day playing a character clearly modeled on super‑agent Sue Mengers. The film is stylish, clever, and deliciously self‑aware.

And yet, for all its pedigree, The Last of Sheila never quite reaches the heights promised by its talent. It is moderately entertaining when it should be deliriously fun. With this concentration of brilliance—and this much queerness—we ought to be having the time of our lives.

The song “Friends” is sung by Bette Midler.

CINEMATOGRAPHY: Gerry Turpin

Warner Bros.