Youth 2015

On a serene Swiss spa retreat in Flims, two septuagenarian friends — Michael Caine as Fred Ballinger and Harvey Keitel as Mick Boyle — drift through a vacation that feels more like a meditation on aging than a holiday. Fred, a celebrated retired composer of classical music, receives an emissary from Queen Elizabeth II bearing a knighthood offer and a request to perform his popular piece, “Simple Song #3,” at Prince Philip’s upcoming birthday concert. Fred declines with quiet resolve, insisting he is no longer drawn to the stage, even though the melodies still echo in his mind when he’s alone with his thoughts.

Nearby, Mick Boyle, a seasoned film director, furiously works with a circle of writers to shape the screenplay for his latest project, which he calls his “testament.” He pursues cinema as a craft even as time gnaws at his optimism, and his pursuit is tempered by a sense of watching the world move beyond the kind of movies he once made. Also present is Jimmy Tree, an actor researching for a new role and growing frustrated that his most enduring memory is that of a robot.

The hotel itself is a mosaic of peculiar personalities: a young masseuse moving with practiced ease, an oversized Diego Maradona who seems to enjoy the hotel’s oddities, and a Miss Universe contestant who radiates charm amid the resort’s reflective mood. The setting becomes a stage for introspection as Fred and Mick confront the erosion of memory and the uncertain road ahead.

Lena, Fred’s daughter and assistant — Rachel Weisz — remains at the resort, channeling her frustration toward a father who was emotionally distant as she grew up. She is married to Mick’s son, but their marriage is strained when he leaves her for pop star Paloma Faith. Lena’s presence stirs old resentments, and she uses the moment to articulate the pain of a life shaped by lines drawn in childhood and the weight of unresolved affection. Her experiences at the spa heighten the film’s quiet drama as the emissary returns with news that deepen the tensions among the group.

The emotional center thickens when Fred explains once again why he won’t sing the soprano part: it belongs to his wife, who can no longer sing, a detail that fractures the moment and underscores the unsentimental truth of time’s passage. Mick, meanwhile, finishes his screenplay and faces a blunt disappointment in the realization that the era he loved may have receded into history. The moment of truth arrives when Brenda Morel, an aging diva who has starred in many of his films, unexpectedly appears at the resort. She reveals a preference for a television role over cinema, telling Mick that the medium has changed and that his career hasn’t produced a truly great film in years. The confrontation rocks him, and tragedy follows as Mick ends his life by leaping from a balcony before Fred’s eyes.

Moved by the events and the weight of a life lived in the glare of memory, Fred makes a choice: he decides to visit his wife in a Venice care home for the first time in years. The trip softens his resolve and reframes what remains meaningful to him as he prepares to return to the United Kingdom to conduct “Simple Song #3” in front of the Queen and Prince, a gesture that blends personal memory with public ceremony.

Throughout the narrative, the film treads between the tangible and the unreal, weaving in surreal moments that tilt the ordinary into the fantastical: a levitating monk drifting above the spa grounds, an imagined Paloma Faith music video that interrupts the peace, Jimmy appearing in a provocative costume reminiscent of a long-ago era, Fred conducting a field of cowbells in a ceremonial, almost ritualistic procession, and Mick envisioning all his former leading ladies gathered on a mountaintop. The sequence even frames Brenda in a new light, recalling her presence in the past while placing her within the strange, almost dreamlike theater of the film’s final vision. These moments underscore the film’s meditation on legacy, fame, love, and the inexorable flow of time.