A vintage train, soon to be shipped to Hollywood, is “kidnapped” by three senior citizens and a little kid for a last glorious run in helmer Diego Arsuaga’s “The Last Train.” Despite the Herculean efforts of a skilled trio of venerable thesps to invest believability in cliches considerably more antique than they are, film bogs down in tired dialogue and foregone conclusions. Sentimental chestnut could find niche on family and Hispanic small-screen venues.
Hector Alterio is the silver-tongued professor with a heart condition, Federico Luppi the macho engineer who passes off his older brother’s guerrilla exploits as his own, and Pepe Soriano the senile fussbudget who writes everything down but forgets it anyway. Ending pits venal cop and heartless yuppie businessman against heroic Uruguayan people who defend their national heritage against Yanqui exploitation, but not, unfortunately, against retreads. Hans Burmann’s lensing does justice to lush Uruguayan countryside, while Hugo Jasa’s score sounds like Morricone schmaltzed up con brio.