When this opened in London - today - I attended the first performance and found myself alone. I had reservations just from the casting, I mean come on, Dennis Hopper, the epitome of hippie/rock playing Sinatra, the epitome of sophisticated cool? What next, Eminem as Cliff Richard. I hoped at least for a generous amount of Sinatra singing but even that was 1) strictly rationed and 2) performed by a Sinatra imitator and then, to add insult to injury, the end credits roll over Elvis Presley's Tutti Frutti. What passes for a plot centres on the infamous Australian tour of 1974 when Sinatra spoke his mind as usual and wound up a virtual prisoner in his hotel room until honour had been satisfied. A sub-plot that threatens to hi-jack the movie involves the young Rock promoter who brought Sinatra to Australia and a girl who had fancied him since they were kids. Basically we're talking rubbish. I thought Baz Lurhman's Moulin Rouge was about as low as you could get but here that Australian has competition from another. Dire.
Review of All the Way
