A Prairie Home

Companion

At the Myrna Loy

Rated PG-13

Grade A

Robert Altman is a filmmaker of impeccable integrity. He has always made films because he fell in love with the project, never because he wanted to make a few bucks to buy a big mansion on the ocean. In fact, more than once, Altman tossed every penny into a project simply because he believed in the concept. And, countless times, Hollywood’s best actors signed on for a pittance, simply because they wanted to work with Altman.

Garrison Keillor is a performer of impeccable integrity. His radio shows have always been acts of love, rather than commercial calculations. His humor is gentle and caring, rather than biting and destructive. The best in Hollywood have often joined him on stage, for a pittance, simply because they wanted to work with Keillor.

And now, at last, Altman meets Keillor and the result is a movie greater than the sum of its parts. M*A*S*H meets Lake Wobegon, and woe will be gone from those who venture out to enjoy this film.

“A Prairie Home Companion,” a fictional tale grounded in the actual radio show, is exactly what fans of both artists would hope for and expect: an iconoclastic, authentic joyful celebration of art, of life and of death.

Hallelujah, pass the popcorn. Oh, this is the Myrna Loy. Pass the wine.

The plot of “Prairie Home Companion” is simple: The 30-year-old radio show is about to become victim to a greedy entrepreneur who has bought the building. Tonight is the last show, before our friends disband their long glorious collaboration.

The film is about death: the death of a show and the actual death of one older performer, during the final show. There’s even an angel in white who’s on duty this very evening.

It’s hard not to wonder whether art imitates life: Is Altman, at 81, reflecting on his own mortality? Is Keillor, 64, wearing out from the ritual of his long-running radio show? Did Keillor’s heart surgery, four years ago, give rise to the almost spiritual/sunset tone of this script?

Whatever the reasons, “Prairie Home Companion” is a very thoughtful, sweet haiku about transitions. In truth, the plot has no destination — it’s all about staying in the present, about the process.

Altman has always been the master of ensemble movies, with dozens of relationships going on at once, under the loosest of directorial control. Audiences always have the feeling the cast is improvising continuously, and yet, at the end, there seems to have been a beginning, middle and an end — even if the cast didn’t know what they would be until they created it.

“Prairie Home Companion” has more purpose than most Altman, perhaps because Keillor wrote the script. But the film has the same unstructured flow of all Altman movies.

What’s going on? Garrison Keillor is the host of a live on-stage show, broadcast to the world.

GK, as he’s called, has a cast of regulars.

Meryl Streep (Lola) and Lily Tomlin are a slightly off-balance sister singing act, the remainder of a four-sister group: “The Carter Family was like us, only famous.” Lola’s dark teen daughter is played convincingly by Lindsay Lohan. My what a difference a director makes!

Two cowboy singers with a love for off-color humor (Woody Harrelson, John C. Reilly) give the show its edge.

The film shows all the stage personnel, and a number of Keillor’s actual staff play themselves. The makeup lady, a backstage worker, a sound effects man, the bandleader and the band are all “real.” It’s clear they love their work and are lovely people, all.

There’s also a security man, Guy Noir (Kevin Kline) and an angel, Dangerous Woman (Virginia Madsen). She’s here to help people cross over, and people get a little nervous when she sits down for some idle conversation.

Clearly, Dangerous Woman is here to help the show travel gently into its afterlife, as well as to handle the practical matter of assisting any dying cast members.

And then there’s Tommy Lee Jones, who plays the Axeman, the one who intends to pave paradise and put up a parking lot. Dangerous Woman spots him, however, and has some ideas. But can she alter destiny? Or is she just rearranging the deck chairs?

“Prairie Home Companion” should delight those who love Altman or Keillor, and for those who like them both, you may smile for weeks afterwards.

There is implicit sadness, however, at the thought that both Altman and Keillor may not entertain us forever — that their little shows “that time forgot and the decades cannot improve” might someday fade away.

Every Saturday afternoon, it’s been nice to be able to visit a place where the women are strong, the men are good looking, and all the children are above average. Woe that such places ever be gone.