Guided by Voices

Two that don't need much analysis:

THE TRIP TO SPAIN (B+) - What can we say about those waggish middle-aged cads now on their third go-round of cuisine and banter, wrapped by Michael Winterbottom in a shroud of ennui? It still works somehow.

Steve Coogan and Rob Brydon first did this shtick in "The Trip" in 2010 and returned for an encore for "The Trip to Italy" in 2014. Here they reunite for a scamper around Spain, indulging in fine dining and quip-offs featuring their patented impressions -- Michael Caine, Roger Moore, etal. There are some inspired moments and some belly laughs.

Coogan, the alpha celeb (he merits the better hotel suites), is often in a cranky mood, gruffly coasting on his recent acclaim for "Philomena," not above putting Brydon in his C-list place. Brydon gets in his digs in between the mimicry that often goes on just a bit too long. (Though his devotion to an extended Roger Moore bit -- riffing off a story about the Moors -- is admirable.) This is civilized male one-upmanship, gentlemanly frat behavior.

In a telling scene, Coogan chats up a street busker and invites him to have a beer with them at an outdoor bistro. After some friendly chit-chat, Coogan takes offense at the young man's superior knowledge of Spain's tourist haunts and goes off sulking. It's left to Brydon to sum up Coogan to the street musician: "He doesn't like to be told things he thinks he already knows."

Winterbottom has gradually tempered his interest in photographing the food being prepared, and he seems intrigued by these faux back stories that he sketches for each man. Coogan, 51, comes off as introspective and perpetually self-analyzing, if not borderline self-loathing. Brydon, 52, just seems content to have escaped family life. Both men are seen jogging through picturesque streets, staving off physical decline.

I was reminded of Michael Apted's "7-Up" series, which checks in every seven years with a core group of British baby boomers. Winterbottom, cheating with fiction, explores similar territory with Gen X elders. If you're in that cohort, you might not mind the same old apings and the broodings of privileged men -- rather, you might enjoy tagging along with these guys every few years to see how things turn out.

MARJORIE PRIME (B) - An elderly woman is kept company by the holographic image of her deceased husband, a version of him in his prime, his early 40s and as handsome as Jon Hamm.

Marjorie (character actor Lois Smith) is losing her grip on her memory, and her beloved Walter is dreamed up to keep her company and bathe her in golden memories. The twist is that hologram Walter (Hamm) comes programmed with only the most basic of information (such as you would have found in his obit), and the rest of his knowledge is inputted by either Marjorie or her daughter and son-in-law -- Tess (Geena Davis) and Jon (Tim Robbins) -- which leads to experiments in revisionist history.

It's difficult to discuss the plot without revealing too much. Jon wallows in his cocktails, and he also takes perverse joy in hanging out with Walter one-on-one. He slyly implants some tidbits into Walter's brain, perhaps Jon's way of making life with his mother-in-law a little more palatable.

Tess is a miserable depressive, still weirded out by having to deal with her dad again, especially now that he's younger than she is. Some dark family history -- her older brother committed suicide as a teen -- still pains her.

This is an intriguing sci-fi experiment from Michael Almereyda, who helped Jordan Harrison (a writer for Netflix's "Orange Is the New Black") adapt Harrison's play. The big ideas here are apparent: Is it cruel or merciful to play God? How reliable are our memories, and how do they define us? Can computers lull us to the grave? Can they eventually allow us to live forever? Would we even want that?

The simple staging -- with long conversations, almost all of them in the house -- comes off like a glorified play but fits the subject matter. The ensemble is mostly solid. You normally wouldn't turn to Davis and Robbins for dramatic heavy lifting, but their understated performances win out in the end. Davis conveys the layers of resentment that have calloused over and deadened her inside. Robbins is a convincing rascal. Hamm is just robotic enough to be both creepy and believable.

The ending is thoughtful, hinting at the future ramifications of the technological tricks, and perhaps even suggesting that this whole human experiment is and always has been one big simulation.

BONUS TRACKS
The trailers:





"The Trip's" theme song, "The Windmills of Your Mind," this version from Noel Harrison: