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.
True love is based on choice, not need. Choice matters over need. Love is choosing someone, not needing them for some other reason. Each one of us is given a tapestry, our own opera. You get attached to people and things. And they might just break your heart. But that’s being alive.