The frisky 60-something residents of a Florida "active adult" community in "Boynton Beach Club" are so determined to find love that as you watch the movie, you might be excused for speculating that it is really a high school romantic comedy whose teenage characters are played by their grandparents.

Sally Kellerman, lean, blond, flashing her crocodile grin, and Dyan Cannon, maniacally perky and jiggling her curves, are definitely not the Golden Girls. Both actresses are 69, but you would never guess it while looking at these indefatigably youthful babes with weirdly unlined faces as they set their sights on eligible men and zoom in for the kill.

The movie, directed by Susan Seidelman, was inspired by the experiences of her mother, Florence (the movie's producer), at an adult enclave in South Florida and is dedicated to exploring the proposition that 60 is the new 40. We've come a long way from the days of the old radio soap opera "The Romance of Helen Trent," which was solemnly billed as the story of a woman who proved that "romance can live in life at 35 and even beyond."

"Boynton Beach Club" revises that to 60 and counting. The single-minded avidity with which these women press their search for Mr. Right makes them seem more like 16.

"Boynton Beach Club" omits talk of surgery, blood pressure, cholesterol, arthritis and the thousand other health concerns of older people. One anxious widower resorts to Viagra to ease his transition back into the dating game, and that's all we hear about medication, unless you count one widow's stash of marijuana. Nobody frets about money or worries about how to stretch out a nest egg into old age.

The movie's major acknowledgement of the passing of time is that most of these people have lost their mates and are going through the various stages of grief. The community's social center is the Boynton Beach Bereavement Club, a support group for the recently bereft who are encouraged to air their feelings, meet new friends and get back into the swing of life. And by swing, I mean swing.

Once you've accepted that "Boynton Beach Club" is a rose-colored fantasy of aging, you can relax and enjoy the bittersweet comic performances by an ensemble that, in addition to the aforementioned bombshells, includes Joseph Bologna, Len Cariou, Michael Nouri, Renee Taylor and Brenda Vaccaro.

The most fragile among the major characters is Marilyn (Vaccaro), whose robustly healthy husband dies when he is hit by a car while literally dancing down the street. The driver, Anita (Taylor), is a grotesquely tanned and bleached gorgon who hits him as she yaps on her cell phone while backing out and she's the one character the movie refuses to forgive. Marilyn's shy male counterpart Jack (Cariou), who lost his wife a few months earlier, is tutored in cooking and courtship by Harry (Bologna), a self-advertised ladies' man whose vanity is momentarily punctured when a dream date he meets on the Internet turns out to be a prostitute.

A movie that sometimes feels like an aggressive infomercial for an antidepressant, "Boynton Beach Club" balances comedy and pathos, infusing the fantasy with enough credibility to make you care about these people and wish them merrily on their way.

This is cache, read story here