By 1977, the golden age of film noir was long gone, and the genre had already been picked apart and reshaped by the New Hollywood movement. Films like The Long Goodbye and Chinatown had reinvented noir with cynicism, surrealism, and a deep sense of disillusionment. In 1975, both Farewell, My Lovely and Night Moves leaned into the idea of the private eye as an outdated figure—world-weary, morally lost, and out of place in a changing world. The Late Show picks up that thread but strips away even more of the old stylishness. The detective at its center isn’t just jaded—the world completely wears him down.
Rather than trying to revive noir’s former cool, writer-director Robert Benton approaches the genre with quiet resignation. The film centers on Ira Wells, a retired gumshoe with aching joints, no money, and barely any energy left to care. Into his faded world bursts Lily Tomlin’s Margo—a chaotic, fast-talking woman who feels like she wandered in from an entirely different kind of movie. She’s looking for her missing cat and ends up pulling Ira into a case involving murder, theft, and all the usual noir shenanigans. Their odd-couple dynamic forms the emotional and comedic core of the film. Benton uses their contrast not just for humor, but to explore the emotional gap between generations—between old-school noir stoicism and newer, looser sensibilities.
The film feels designed for those who grew up with 1940s noir and still felt nostalgic for it by the late ’70s. Watching it now—after the same formula has been stretched into far more absurd and self-aware directions in films like Brick, Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, and The Nice Guys—its quirks don’t feel quite as fresh. At the time, Tomlin’s character must have seemed like a clever, unexpected twist on the genre. Today, even with her natural charisma, the performance can come off as shrill and uneven.
The mystery itself is standard fare and not particularly engaging. It begins with a missing cat but quickly spirals into a familiar noir tangle of betrayals, hidden motives, and romantic entanglements—ultimately revolving around people killing each other over petty jealousy and old secrets. The motivations feel thin, and the character names blur together despite the relatively small cast.
Still, Art Carney is excellent as Ira Wells. His performance is lived-in and quietly moving, grounding the film even when the tone wobbles. He’s stiff, tired, and completely over it, but we can see hints of his once suave persona. The film’s best moment comes when Margo excitedly shares a breakthrough in the case, only to be met with Ira’s blank, exhausted stare. Farewell, My Lovely and Night Moves tried to capture that sense of weariness, but The Late Show arguably does it best—understated and unflinching.
In the technical aspects, it is a more modest-looking film, with the main saxophone theme making much of the heavy lifting, and Benton’s direction has just enough atmosphere to place this within the noir tradition without turning it into pastiche. There are a few memorable scenes—like the goon forced to jump into a pool—but, as its mystery is standard, it never quite becomes memorable, aside from the main dynamic.
The Late Show is a fine noir with a great protagonist, a few standout scenes, and a melancholic heart. The comedy didn’t quite land for me, and the mystery was too forgettable to leave a strong impression—but as a farewell to the noir hero, it has a quiet kind of power.