Most critics take Leaving Las Vegas for what it is, a small, grim film about a man drinking himself to death, and find it more moving than its premise suggests. The praise lands almost entirely on the two leads. Cage is called honest, unflinching and, in a couple of reviews, funny; Shue is credited with the sensitivity that makes the relationship believable. Figgis’s direction is described as stylish and non-judgemental, and several reviews single out the jazzy score as doing real work.
The doubts are about the romance rather than the drinking. The Los Angeles Times, the one outright dissenter, admires the craft but calls the film a superbly built sham that romanticises despair, and HeyUGuys, the lone mixed notice, sees a sentimental weepie with noir pretensions. The Independent, while positive, also finds the doomed passion po-faced at moments. The spread is narrow otherwise: nine of eleven reviews land somewhere between good and very good.
