It's very easy for fogies to miss out on things. We don't always have our ears to the ground and it can be a year or more before we catch up with (or catch onto) what's happening.
So, imagine our surprise when we settled down to watch last year's buried treasure, "St. Vincent", and found it to be a nearly perfect imagination of what it's like to be old and getting older.
All of the performances in this little gem are excellent, but none is better than that of Bill Murray. He's believably drunk, disheveled, depressed, and unable to quit, even as he makes a conscious effort to give up.
Sure, the usual sentimental contrivances make their obligatory appearances. But it's OK. This is a film about forgiving and forgetting and fighting and finding a way to redemption. It's a bit schlocky, sure, but then, what's the alternative?