The Farewell Party

The Farewell Party was probably the funniest film at this year’s Palm Springs film festival. It had to be. It’s about euthanasia. By making it equal parts farewell and party the comedy made the sombre reality bearable.

In an Israeli retirement home a modest inventor Yeheskel devises a machine to add a mortal combination to a hopeless patient’s IV. The delicate operation is done by a heavy combination of gears and chains that looks like it would raise a drawbridge. That’s a comic paradox akin to “mercy killing.”  He makes it for his old friend Max, who begs for release. The only doctor who will help is a vet, another resident.

Yeheskel and his accomplices do not take their enterprise lightly. At every step it’s a battle of conscience, to determine whether they're taking a life or saving it. It’s a fight between the law and justice. When the home’s administrator scolds them for an indecorous generosity, her piercing, personalized insults make their justice superior to her law. They’re also supported by an incidental news report, which features the daily traffic mortality count — an unsolved problem larger than mercy killing — and the story of an 80-year-old man who with no other alternative killed his suffering wife then himself.

Yeheskel’s wife Levana is at first the most strenuously opposed to the death machine. But as she slips into humiliating dementia she comes to crave it herself. At the first sign of that Yeheskel destroys his machine. He won’t use it on her. Or rather, for her. Then he remembers serving his beloved’s needs should trump his own, so he rebuilds it to let her die in comfort and dignity.

The framing story of one Zelda provides the religious context. In the first scene she gets ostensible phone calls from God, advising her to continue her treatments because there’s not yet a vacancy in heaven. At the end she lets on that she knew it was Yeheskel all along. When she gets his treatment it’s interrupted twice by power failures. She takes that as a sign from God and resolves to live on. Thus we contrive a higher power to direct us, i.e., to let us do what we want.

Even these modest saints remain human, too. The vet’s lover — who literally comes out of the closet — is venal enough secretly to collect a fee for the service. He’s banished from the group and the affair.

When Yeheskel gives his Levana the last “duckie kiss,” it’s what he gives his granddaughter. The characters’ playfulness expresses their essential childishness, a vestigial joy and innocence. As Levana tells the administrator, “Their bodies are old but they’re still children inside.” To their credit. Retired from work and responsibility they’re free to be young again however they can. That’s the last joy in life. So, too, the old veterinarian is still trying to find a way to tell his mother he’s gay.

The fall setting outside reminds us that death is just a part of the natural cycle. That continuity also impels the musical interlude where the dead join the living to sing about Neverland.

This marvellous film is required viewing for governments considering regulations to allow for assisted suicides. They all should be.