You can see as lecherous grey porn for the wrinkling erectile dysfunction set but Roger Mitchel's tale of ageing actor O'Toole in the last flush of feelings with the wanton Jodie Whittiker is a sometimes uncomfortable but emotionally convincing meditation on old age and its ability to ruin the body while leaving the spirit frustrated but youthfully intact.
The pleasure here is watching veterans like the aforementioned O' Toole and Leslie Philips is such blistering, devil may care form. They're double act is the best reason to see Venus, brimming as it does with the sort of easy going confidence borne of a 100 plus screen performances and a lifetime in front of the camera. Whittikar as the object of the veteran thesps' dirty old eye is quite sweet and her discomfort at the wrinklies sexual interest acts as a neat surrogate for the rest of us, meaning we can watch the relationship unfold without vomiting uncontrollably.
The scenes in which O'Toole contemplates the end of his life and his glory days carry genuine pathos, not least because the man is no spring chicken himself and he, like his character, may not have too many more spells in the spotlight left. With that in mind you should definitely seek out this performance but be aware that some of the sexual overtures made to the fair Whittikar who both writer and director can't resist leering at themselves, may make you squirm in your seat as much as laugh. Incidentally O'Toole's humour is still dry as dust and he's lost none of his exquisite timing - I hope the image of him feeling up an 18 year old isn't one of the last things I get to see him doing. No, really.
The pleasure here is watching veterans like the aforementioned O' Toole and Leslie Philips is such blistering, devil may care form. They're double act is the best reason to see Venus, brimming as it does with the sort of easy going confidence borne of a 100 plus screen performances and a lifetime in front of the camera. Whittikar as the object of the veteran thesps' dirty old eye is quite sweet and her discomfort at the wrinklies sexual interest acts as a neat surrogate for the rest of us, meaning we can watch the relationship unfold without vomiting uncontrollably.
The scenes in which O'Toole contemplates the end of his life and his glory days carry genuine pathos, not least because the man is no spring chicken himself and he, like his character, may not have too many more spells in the spotlight left. With that in mind you should definitely seek out this performance but be aware that some of the sexual overtures made to the fair Whittikar who both writer and director can't resist leering at themselves, may make you squirm in your seat as much as laugh. Incidentally O'Toole's humour is still dry as dust and he's lost none of his exquisite timing - I hope the image of him feeling up an 18 year old isn't one of the last things I get to see him doing. No, really.