a load of pretentious, incomprehensible twaddle. sort of a cross between first-semester screenwriting and a meandering architectural travelogue as Frances walks the streets admiring the real estate, chain-smoking, and giving away her fortune to park-bench vagrants and other assorted freaks and wackos. accompanied by so many shots of uneaten meals that the end credits include a “culinary stylist.” It’s good to see Michelle Pfeiffer in movies, but not in this one.
My life is riddled by cliches. But you know what a cliche is. It’s a story so fine and thrilling that it’s grown old in its hopeful retelling. People tell it. Not so many live it.