(Warning: plot spoiler)
When I think about films that have mattered in my life, "Last Holiday" is on the short list -- an ironic British comedy written by J.B. Priestly and released in 1950. Alec Guinness plays George Bird, a salesman as cautious as a civil servant, who has never married because what women see in his face is dread of life, not an attractive quality. A persistent headache has made him consult a doctor. After medical tests, Bird has been told to come back the next day for the diagnosis, but by the time he returns the files have been mixed up. The doctor has someone else's results in Bird's folder and so informs him that he has an untreatable illness and will be dead in six weeks. In fact, all Bird needs is an aspirin or perhaps a pint of beer.
The doctor's error transforms Bird's life. He quits his job that very day, empties his bank account (there is no longer any point in saving up for old age), and books a room in a luxury hotel, a coastal resort for the affluent. He had never imagined setting foot in such a place until he spotted the graveyard racing toward him. A day later he begins his last holiday. No longer needing to play it safe, Bird can say and do things he previously would never have dared -- there is nothing left to fear. For the first time in his life women find him attractive. Bankers, corporate executives, and government ministers are soon lining up for his advice, offering partnerships and vice-presidencies. Everyone senses in him a mysterious quality, a detachment and freedom that make him a figure to be reckoned with. The viewer alone knows just what that mysterious quality is: Bird's death sentence has been his liberation. He is no longer a prisoner of the terrifying future.
The people in the hotel are far from a happy group. In many ways their holiday hotel is a well-appointed purgatory. Bird becomes something of a Saint Francis in his efforts to help his fellow guests become less selfish people, though it takes only his being late to a meal in his honor to sour their affection for him. What they don't know is that the guest of honor has just been killed in an auto accident while off on a mission of mercy. The doctor with the wrong file was right after all, not in his diagnosis but in the basic fact that George Bird -- not to mention every one of us -- is going to die and there's nothing we can do about it. The physician's only error was that it took less than six weeks to happen.
It's a film about poverty of spirit: stepping into a life in which I am no longer in charge, in which I own nothing, in which, like George Bird, I am freed by news of my own death. Free as a bird.