by MATTHEW HAYS

This year’s Oscar ceremony offered one of those rare sequences that actually stood way, way above the vast majority of the mediocre mess that overwhelms the broadcast. Finally, finally, Robert Altman was awarded an Oscar, this one for lifetime achievement. (This is the award the Academy keeps to make up for all their glaring oversights—i.e. major talents like Altman.)

But the best part came when Meryl Streep and Lily Tomlin got up to make the introduction and presentation of the award. They did a lengthy, hilarious riff on the common stylistic thread in so many of Altman’s films: they spoke at the same time in spurts of colliding, overriding dialogue. It was fun, and though clearly carefully planned, didn’t seem as contrived as many of the gags on that show often do.

Their appearance effectively plugged Altman’s highly anticipated latest, A Prairie Home Companion, inspired by the NPR show of the same name. In this parallel universe, imagined by PHC’s host Garrison Keillor, the show is not a popular ongoing radio show, but rather a local radio show that is marking its final broadcast, due to the sale of their stage venue to evil corporate types from Texas. Some of the characters in this film are based on ones Keillor created in lyrics for songs for his show; his loony imagination is perfectly suited to the film universe of Altman’s.

This film is as endearing and strange as Altman’s career, an evolution that went from the massive success of 1970’s M*A*S*H to banishment from the studios to cryptic experiments to re-embracement by the studios (with 1992’s The Player, a film that skewered the studios). A Prairie Home Companion features Altman’s trademark style, a sprawling, seemingly improvisatory script, featuring a diverse ensemble of actors, all of whom appear to be in an eating contest to see who can chew up the scenery most furiously.

Streep and Tomlin play a sister singing act, a pair who never really got famous enough to be washed up. Streep was romantically involved with Keillor in the day. Both women are melancholic about the past, with Tomlin downright bitter. She should have left town and hit the big time sooner, she says, mourning for a lost stardom she never had. Lindsay Lohan is surprisingly good as Streep’s daughter, a shy woman who writes poetry about suicidal tendencies. Woody Harrelson and John C. Reilly are hilarious as a pair of singing pranksters who have been playing together for years.

But the standout here is Kevin Kline, who plays Guy Noir (a character from one of Keillor’s songs), a brilliant pastiche of every bad film noir detective ever put on screen or in a pulp novel. Kline relishes spewing ludicrous lines, rife with bad metaphors and bizarre analogies. I’m not going to ruin any of them for you. They really should create a film for Guy Noir himself—he could easily carry a modern film noir.

That A Prairie Home Companion captures the final night of a decades-long institution is sadly fitting. Altman, who had a heart transplant a decade ago (he wasn’t making that up during his Oscar speech), is reportedly in less robust shape than he was (understandably, given his age). Paul Thomas Anderson is thanked in the final credits; apparently he was brought in to help with Altman’s directorial duties.

Like most Altman works, this film has many uplifting and funny moments. But I also found it profoundly sad, like a nostalgic farewell from one of the most influential living filmmakers. It reminded me of the sensation of sitting through a new Altman film—and being left with that hunger for seeing the next.

A Prairie Home Companion opens Friday, June 9

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