Movie Nation

“Legends of Oz: Dorothy’s Return” is a harmless but almost charmless adaptation of a book by L. Frank Baum’s grandson. It’s a derivative hash of grandpa’s story, set in the present day, given forgettable new tunes by pop songsmiths such as Bryan Adams which are sung by the likes of Lea Michele, Martin Short, Hugh Dancy and the operatic Megan Hilty of TV’s “Smash.”
And it’s in 3D. Of course.
But lest this child’s play be written off all altogether, let’s look on the bright side. The bottom rung of big screen computer-generated animation’s ladder, entry level stuff, is decades beyond where it used to be. This work, animated at Prana in India, has decent production design — a dark, abandoned Emerald City, a shiny, porcelin sheen its scenes set in “Dainty China Country” and luscious-looking 3D sweets in Candy County.
And the animated characters are beautifully rendered, even if their faces don’t have the expression and plasticity that Pixar, Blue Sky, Disney and Sony have managed in their recent films.
Dorothy (Michele), Toto, Auntie Em and Uncle Henry survive a tornado that trashes their corner of Kansas. An unscupulous real estate hustler (Martin Short) is ready to buy out the whole, shattered town. But before Dorothy can stop this foreclosure fraud, a rainbow snatches her and drags her back to Oz, her and her little dog, too.
Scarecrow (Dan Aykroyd) has smartly summoned her to save the land, which is under the thumb of The Jester (Short, again), the evil brother of the Wicked Witch of the West. And Brother carries a grudge.
Dorothy, on arrival, teams up with Wiser, the chatterbox owl (Oliver Platt), the candy soldier, Marshal Mallow (Dancy) and the haughty China Princess (Hilty) and sets off down the ruined Yellow Brick Road to save her old friends.
Kelsey Grammer plays a mercurial Tin Man who now has a heart.
“I had no emotions before,” he wails. Now, “I want to try them ALL out!”
Jim Belushi voices the lion, and Bernadette Peters is perfectly cast as Glinda, the Good Witch, now just a puppet of Jester.
“No good can come from the reign of a fool,” she trills.
With unknown animation entities, the rule is that the more impressive the voice cast, the weaker the script. Hire Great Brits Patrick Stewart (as a boat), Brian Blessed and Dancy (who croons a tune or two) and maybe you can cover up the startling lack of humor on the page.
These films — even the bad ones — are gold mines. So there’s no point in complaining about the cynicism that exists in this genre. Not with Disney, inexplicably releasing a sequel to its embarrassing fiasco “Planes” later this summer.

MPAA Rating:PG for some scary images and mild peril
Cast: The voices of Lea Michele, Martin Short, Hugh Dancy, Oliver Platt, Bernadette Peters, Megan Hilty, Dan Aykroyd, Patrick Stewart, Jim Belushi
Credits: Directed by Will Finn and Dan St. Pierre, written by Adam Balsan and Randi Barnes, based on a Roger. S. Baum book. A Clarious/Prana Studios release.
Running time: 1:28

He’s an actor’s actor, the very best that American film has ever produced, by some estimations. Including mine. I can name his bad performances on one finger (science fiction movie, Earth doomed, guess).

Robert Duvall does a turn in “A Night in Old Mexico,” a movie that plays like “Hud” and “The Reivers,” any picture about a comically colorful coot who heads to some version of “Sin City” for a little hell raising. With just a hint of “No Country for Old Men” about it.

He’s 83. And he’s still liable to get the girl, intimidate the band hombres and impress the hell out of the grandson he never knew he had who has come along for the ride (in a vintage Caddy, naturally).

I’ve interviewed him many times over the years, about every film from “The Scarlet Letter” to “A Family Thing,” “The Apostle” to “Get Low” to “Assassination Tango.”

So now it’s your turn to ask him some questions. Post’em as comments, and thanks for the help.

Faith-based films have have become downright commonplace this year. But faith-based comedies? Comedies that work? That’s still a very short historical list — the George Burns blockbuster “Oh God,” and Andy Griffith’s “Angel in my Pocket” are the only two to come to mind.
“Moms’ Night Out” doesn’t join their ranks. A PG-rated romp that never romps, it lacks the jokes, sight gags, pacing and performances that are the stuff laughs are made of.
A funny movie doesn’t have to leave you with a “Hangover” to give you the giggles. But when you’re sending three mothers out for an “epic” night on the town, and you’re abstaining from alcohol, profanity and jokes about sex, you’d better make sure the gags you do include are killer, and that you’ve got a cast that can land those laughs.
Sarah Drew plays Ally, a stressed-out mother of three pre-school age tykes, a “Mommy Blogger” who brags online about being “a clean freak” who can “actually FEEL the house getting dirty,” but whose reality doesn’t measure up to that.
Her house is a wreck, her husband (Sean Astin) is always traveling and the kids are barely under control. And every so often, she loses it.
“I am the Bruce Banner of stay-at-home moms.”
She’s unhappy, so her husband urges her to take a night for herself. She talks her mother-of-two pal Izzy (Logan White) and, oddly, that icon of motherly virtue, her pastor’s wife (Patricia Heaton) into a girl’s “night out to remember.”
Izzy’s simpering, helpless husband (Robert Amaya) is lost without her calling the shots. Ally’s husband has a regular Saturday night video game date with an irresponsible, kid-hating pal (Kevin Downes, amusing). And Sondra, the preacher’s wife, is fending off a full-fledged revolt from her rebellious teenage daughter (Sammi Hanratty), who is threatening to sneak out while Mom’s away.
This could get interesting, “Adventures in Babysitting” interesting. Except it doesn’t.
As the night runs from losing their reservation at a pretentious restaurant to losing their phones to losing their minivan to losing a baby and their husbands losing their minds, overwhelmed by simple child care — “Mom’s Night Out” sets itself up for laughs that it rarely delivers.
For 45 minutes, the writing/directing Erwin brothers (“October Baby,” the abortion drama, was theirs) can’t manage so much as a smile, mainly due to the blandness of their leading lady. Drew is good at whiny, not good at amusingly whiny.
Then we hit the tattoo parlor and “Moms’ Night Out” starts to find its funnybone. Christian singer Manwell Reyes is hilarious as a goofball receptionist, country singer Trace Adkins just kills as a brassy, no nonsense biker-tattoo artist named Bones. Bones, who has a hint of hellraiser about him, thinks he knows the straight-laced Sondra from somewhere.
“Bonnaroo?”
“No.”
Lollapalooza? “
“No.”
“Live Aid?”
“NO.”
Missed communications, a lost parakeet and a lot of scenes of manic women, shrieking at cops, a stoner, and a British cabbie (Heaton’s husband, producer David Hunt) — “Moms’ Night Out” gets up a head of steam, for a few minutes, anyway.
The very best gag suggests a more promising direction the film might have taken. Heaton’s Sondra panics when a pile of empty beer bottles is left on their table at a bowling alley. She can’t have her parishioners thinking she DRINKS. A whole night of a “perfect” preacher’s wife/mom trying to protect her reputation might have been funny. Especially with Bones along for the ride.
A few simple sermonettes about motherhood and parenting work. But the Erwins learn, the hard way, that “Sermonizing is easy, comedy is hard.”
　
　
MPAA Rating: PG for mild thematic elements and some action
Cast: Sarah Drew, Sean Astin, Patricia Heaton, Trace Adkins, Abbie Cobb, Logan White
Credits: Directed by Jon and Andrew Erwin, scripted by Jon Erwin and Andrea Gyertson Nasfell. A Sony-Tristar release.
Running time: 1:38

“Neighbors” is an “Animal House” for “The Hangover” era, a frat boy comedy that pushes the rude and raunchy envelope into daring and dirty new territory. Hilariously coarse, reasonably shrewd and clumsily sentimental, there’s no reason it won’t earn a billion and inspire a whole new generation of party hearty “bros” to go Greek when they go to college.

The hook here is not just the appeal of this band of brothers — drinking, dope-smoking, hard-living loverboys — to their peers. They’re also the sorts of guys Mac and Kelly used to be and wish they still were.

But Mac (Seth Rogen) has a office job that is pure drudgery. Kelly (Rose Byrne) is staying at home with Stella, their newborn. They have to lie to convince themselves that the obvious hasn’t come true.

“Just because we have a house and a baby doesn’t mean we’re old people.”

They strain to keep their old lives– sharing the occasional joint, spontaneous sex (in front of the baby), club hopping.

“We can have fun AND a baby! Baby’s first Rave!”

The trouble is, they can’t. And having the up-all-night kids of Delta Psi Beta move in next door just rubs their noses in it.

The kids, led by Teddy (Zac Efron) and Pete (Dave Franco), may feign neighborliness and high fraternity ideals.

“Chivalry above self!”

But they’re hedonistic beasts, living to make their legends with a fraternity that claims it invented the toga party, beer pong and the like. Telling them to “Keep it down” will never work.

And despite the “invite the old people in” flattery, despite Mac’s taste for the magic mushrooms, booze and other substances the Deltas have in mass quantities, this means war.

The random laughs are sprinkled throughout this Rogenesque comedy — the shock value profanity that the parents use in front of the toddler, the college dean (Lisa Kudrow) who will only do something about the fraternity’s behavior when they make “headlines.”

I love the stuff about the older couple straining to still seem “cool” to these kids who have no regard for anybody who isn’t at their frat house, partying like it’s 1979. The fun is supposed to build from the elaborate plots the marrieds and the bros engage in to foil each other. Only, it doesn’t.

Whoever the screenwriters, the Judd Apatow-trained Rogen makes sure there are a dizzying array of killer one-liners, such as Mac’s reaction to the first time he sees Teddy shirtless.

“He’s like something a gay guy designed in a laboratory!”

Byrne, as she proved in “Bridesmaids” and REALLY proved in “Get Him to the Greek,” can hang with the bad boys in terms of laying it all out there and cursing like a sailor.

But for such a short comedy, “Neighbors” drags. Director Nicholas Stoller (“Get Him to the Greek”) creates little momentum between the schemes and counter-schemes. Peripheral characters, while funny, show up and stop the action. Some of the “I love you, man” riffs between the bros are meant to be funny because they go on forever.

The outrageous stunts and boundaries-pushing gags are as riotously funny as anything in any “Hangover” movie. And telling this story from both the frat brothers’ and the indignant nearly-adults next door’s point of view broadens the appeal. Yeah, we used to be like that. In our dreams.

But in between the belly laughs, “Neighbors” feels like a pulled punch, a mean comedy with a soft streak, a “Hangover” that never delivers the buzz.

MPAA Rating: R for pervasive language, strong crude and sexual content, graphic nudity, and drug use throughout

Cast: Seth Rogen, Rose Byrne, Zac Efron, Dave Franco, Christopher Mintz-Plasse, Lisa Kudrow

Credits: Directed by Nicholas Stoller, screenplay by Andrew J. Cohen, Brendan O’Brien. A Universal release.

Running time: 1:36

Sports agents, as “Jerry Maguire” taught us, make their mark by finding value where others don’t see it.
That’s the hook to “Million Dollar Arm,” a Disney movie about a real-life agent — J.B. Bernstein — who decides the answer to his bottom-line is finding future Major League Baseball pitchers amongst the millions of young cricket bowlers of India.
No, they don’t play baseball in India. There’s no system set up to scout for baseball talent. And the simple mechanics of hurling a cricket ball, a straight-armed (no bent elbow) motion augmented by taking a running start, isn’t much like a pitcher’s motion at all.
But Bernstein found an investor, created an “India’s Got Baseball Talent” type contest and brought in a baseball scout to find out who might have a “Million Dollar Arm.”
“What he realized was that in a country that big, there was talent out there — athletic ability,” says Jon Hamm, who plays Bernstein in the movie, which opens May 16. “The problem is simply that there isn’t a value, over there, placed on being able to throw this ball the way we do over here. What he figured out, wisely, was that there are a billion kids in India and you’ve got to figure that are some who have the build, the raw athletic ability, to be able to throw a baseball at major league speeds.”
In other words, “Juice’ (pitching velocity) is juice. It’s quantifiable,” Hamm says. “This guy can bring it, or he can’t. ‘We can teach you the rest’. The reality of the story was a guy thinking so outside of the box, and having his gamble pay off.”
The guy he’s playing in the film, the real J.B. Bernstein, was beyond flattered that a guy with Hamm’s Hollywood heat elected to play him in the movie. The Access Group sports agency founder got to relive his story — with all its wince-worthy moments — with a rising A-list star driving his Porsche, making his same mistakes, makes him shake his head. Especially that first, thrown-together big league showcase for his Indian stars, staged in a parking lot in Arizona,
“I watch that scene and I am right back there in Arizona watching the train wreck I created
unfold,” Bernstein says. ” By far, the worst day of my life. Jon really captured what I felt like that day.”
Another gamble in “Million Dollar Arm” is the one the actor is taking. Hamm, 43, is trying to set the table for his post-“Mad Men” career with a culture clash comedy in which he plays straight man to Alan Arkin (playing the jaded scout) and a trio of Indian village boys thoroughly lost when J.B. brings them to Los Angeles to prep them for a big-league tryout.
“The tone of the film helps me out, and this guy is significantly different from Don Draper (from “Mad Men”),” Hamm says. “The emotional journey that he takes is beautiful and uplifting and inspiring, even. Heartwarming. Not one of those words has ever been used to describe Don Draper. Ever.’
Hamm laughs. Even though his “sexiest man alive” chiseled good looks convinced Hollywood that “straight arrow” characters — cops and federal agents (“The Town”) — might be his future, he’s drawn to comedy. He’s been in a long-term relationship with comic actress, writer and director Jennifer Westfeldt (“Kissing Jessica Stein”). His turns on “30 Rock” and appearances on “Saturday Night Live” show he can find the funny. And he laughed at the idea of playing Bernstein.
“I get to play a ‘fish out of water,'” Hamm says of his high-living agent out of his depth in India. “You go to India, you can’t figure out how anything works. You’re in the middle of this sea of people and cars, in traffic. And it works. Wow. J.B.’s reaction to that is like any Ameican’s reaction to things working in that chaos — pretty funny.”
A third gamble? Disney, reaching for that huge Indian market with a film about an agent who sold MLB on the same idea — that there’s money to be made on those Bollywood-loving billions in South Asia.
“Our biggest concern was, we didn’t want to offend anybody,” Hamm says. “We didn’t want the Indian characters as cartoonish cliches. Craig (Gillespie, director) walked a very fine line with that. . But you can say that and show that without offending people…You want to be culturally sensitive at all times. Bollywood films and Indian cinema is a lovely art form, beautiful. It’s also very specific to that culture. But plainly there is a place for Hollywood in India.”
No Indian player recruited by J.B. Bernstein has yet made it to the Major Leagues. But given time, the odds are that one could. “Million Dollar Arm.” Visit any major league ballpark this year and it’s pretty obvious the game need to find fresh pitching blood — somewhere.
Hollywood’s product makes inroads into the Indian marketplace, even with films that aren’t tailor made for that audience.
And Hamm’s gamble? It’s hardly an all-or-nothing shot. A summer comedy about India and baseball might not seem like a sure thing, and a James Franco-directed adaptation of William Faulkner’s “The Sound and the Fury”, which Hamm has finished, seems even less commercial. Heck, he might even do another TV series, limited run or otherwise.
“I would never say ‘No’ to doing another TV show. I love doing it and the opportunities there are more exciting than they’ve ever been.”
And if his lady friend and in-demand muse Westfeldt can squeeze in the time, “I’m sure she”ll put something on paper and we’ll pour our energy into making it. As hard as it is being a sports agent, or getting an acting career going, getting an independent film written, cast, financed, made and distributed is even harder.”

Jon Favreau looks the part, is behind the camera for this cooking comedy with Dustin Hoffman, Scarlett J., Sofia Vergara, John Leguizamo, Bobby Canavale and Oliver Platt as a food critic.

“Chef” goes into limited release this weekend, wider later in the month.

It would have been too much to expect Jerome Sable’s “Stage Fright” to live
up to its positively giddy first 15 minutes. But sooner or later, the gore was
coming to the fore of this blend of backstage musical, and “Scream 1, 2, 3 4.”
The fun just bleeds out of it.
Opening night for the musical “Haunting of the Opera” is marred when the star
(Minnie Driver) is brutally butchered in her dressing room by a killer wearing
the “Ghost of the Opera” mask and cowled cape.
But ten years later, Camilla (Allie MacDonald), the daughter of that star
hasn’t forgotten Mom’s singing credo — “All of life’s a song, so sing with all
your heart!” It’s just that standing out at the Center Stage summer camp for the
performing arts is going to be tough.
Busloads of singing, primping divas — some of them girls — show up at “the
place where we can be ourselves, at least for once a year!”
They sing through the list of nasty nicknames they get from bullies and
lament their lot in life — in song.

“I got beaten up a dozen times, just for singing Stephen Sondheim!”
Sam (Ephraim Ellis) croons, “I’m GAY, I’m gay, but not in that way.” He’s just “gay for musicals.”

Ex-producer Roger McCall (Meat Loaf) runs the camp. His only hope for holding off the creditors? Getting the kids to revive that “Haunting” show of long ago, with wunderkind director Artie Getz (Brandon Uranowitz) staging it as a kabuki musical.

Camilla? She knows she could be a star, just like mom, if she can win the
lead role. But she’s not even enrolled at Center Stage. She and her twin brother (Douglas Smith) are stuck in the kitchen, cooking for all the Broadway brats.

But Camilla is fated for that role — Sofia. And as the kids storm through
rehearsals, getting ready for their “Limelight” showcase performance, somebody is watching, sharpening his knives and readying his own repeat performance.

The body count is strictly routine, but Sable does his best to keep “show
must go on” camp element in the mix. That side of things — gay jokes, divas tossing tantrums, the lecherous director’s casting couch — is supposed to produce the laughs. But after that promising opening, those laughs are few and far between.

“Why am I even TALKING to you? You’re just an…ALTO!”
The cast is bland, the voices far too thin to have any pretensions of
Broadway. So that just leaves us with a horror film, an Axl Rose-sound-alike screeching through murders set to a heavy metal beat. “Break a leg!” he cracks.
“Nailed it” is the punch line to another murder.

There’s promise, here — in the goofy improvisations the cast attempts when the night becomes a fiasco — “The more that goes wrong, the more we need for the show to go on!”
But opening night never lives up to those opening minutes. As horror musicals go, “Stage Fright” is never more than an out-of-town tryout.

MPAA Rating: R for bloody horror violence, language and some sexual
references

Cast: Meat Loaf, Minnie Driver, Allie MacDonald, Brandon Uranowitz

Credits: Written and directed, music and lyrics by Jerome Sable. A
Magnolia/Magnet release.

Running time: 1:28

James McAvoy wallows in it in his new film, “Filth.” He embraces the sexual depravity, the drug and alcohol abuse, the bullying, vile language, racism and rank sexism of being a Scottish cop on the loose.
“There’s nooo place like home,” he narrates in his natural burr. And for
detective Bruce Robertson, truly there isn’t. Scotland is where this cop knows he can get away with most anything.
Bruce wants a promotion, wants to make inspector. And he’s willing to lie, blackmail and set his rival cops in the department against each other to get it.
“I’ve always believed it’s the winning that’s important,” he cracks, giving his version of the Olympic creed, “NOT the ‘taking part.'”
A Japanese student has been murdered, and Bruce and his department are on the case. Not that there’s any rush.
“A wog’s a wog, for all that, eh?” That generic catch-all British Empire slur still carries weight with this lot. Jamie Bell plays a fellow cop who’s a real threat to Bruce’s promotion, so he’s got a ready supply of blackmail material on the lad. Brian McCardie is a racist homophobe detective, Emun Elliot a “metrosexual” ripe for undercutting through sexual preference jokes, Imogen Poots plays the possibly competent female detective, Gary Lewis the aged simpleton and John Sessions the clueless would-be screenwriter chief who plans to hand the promotion to the detective who solves this crime.
Bruce may have the inside track, being a good cop. But he can’t leave the coke, pills, booze and inhalers — anything he comes across — alone. He can’t NOT sexually harass suspects. And he can’t bury deep the demons that make him hallucinate a dead boy’s image, even as he lies abut his mental health to the departmental shrink (Jim Broadbent).
Bruce co-narrates his story with his randy, “open marriage” preaching wife (Shauna Macdonald) and gets his jollies corrupting his straight arrow Masonic Lodge pal (Eddie Marson) whose wife (Shirley Henderson) Bruce treats to a never-ending supply of obscene and obscenely funny phone calls.
And through it all, as he narrates the foibles of his peers and runs amok
through Edinburgh and Glasgow (and Hamburg, Germany, for a laugh), McAvoy revels in being bad — very bad.
It’s “Easy, peasy Japanesy” for his Bruce to share every ugly thought and social theory that pops into his demented head. Bruce likes his porn, his auto erotic asphyxiation games, his assorted hookers, paramours and depraved
pursuits. And McAvoy lets us see him enjoy it all.
Because the moment this experience or that transgression ends, Bruce is lost — a mess, a man with secrets, too many of which are easily guessed, even if  others revealed only is due course. McAvoy makes us feel Bruce’s emptiness, even if we never once feel for him.
Writer-director Jon S. Baird , working from the Irvine Welsh novel, doesn’t water down the thick accents, the slang or the sexual deviancy here, turning McAvoy loose on this loose, louche louse and letting his star get so down and dirty that you wonder how he’ll ever shake off his role.
He will. But not without a thorough scrubbing.

MPAA Rating: R for strong sexual content, graphic nudity, drug use, language and some violence
Cast: James McAvoy, Jamie Bell, Imogen Poots, Eddie Marsan, Shauna Macdonald, Jim Broadbent
Credits: Written and directed by Jon S. Baird, based on the Irvine Welsh novel. An e release.
Running time: 1:33

Identity and our ability to control our own is very much in the zeitgeist,
which goes a long way in explaining why there are two current films built around
the confused search for identity, both adaptations of novels titled “The
Double.”
The muddled puzzle of “Enemy” has a college professor (Jake Gyllenhaal)
stalking, and then confronted by a man who seems to be an alternate version of
himself. It’s based on a book by Portuguese novelist Jose Saramago. “The
Double,” the classic take on this question of identity and the madness that
obsessing about it too much can reveal, was written by Fyodor Dostoevsky, and is
the basis of a cerebral thriller starrying Jesse Eisenberg.
For all of both film’s surreal touches and stylistic flourishes, “The Double”
is the one that makes more sense.
Eisenberg plays a clerk trapped in a gloomy corporation run by a distant
Colonel (James Fox). Simon James is the sort of nobody that nobody notices —
pushed around, bullied.
“How long you been here, son?” the boss (Wallace Shawn) wants to know. “Just
started, eh?”
“Yes sir. Seven years.”
Even the sliding doors, omnipresent in this retro-future of adding machines,
cathode ray tube computer screens and permanently dim lighting, torment Simon.
He’s living in a world where nobody knows his name.>
Not even the lovely Hannah, who runs the photocopying room, gives him a
thought. But he thinks about her. She puts a spring in his step, even as he
spies on her in her apartment with his spotting scope, puzzling over the torn
bits of bloody paper left over from the drawings she makes by pricking her
fingers.
Then the unnoticed Simon is confronted with the very noticeable James
(Eisenberg, too). He is confident where Simon is tentative. James is aggressive
where Simon is nebbishy. Simon would be the only person who realizes they look
exactly alike, but James does, too. The more assertive James begins to offer
life, love and dating advice to Simon. But Simon and we suspect James of more
sinister motives.
“This is NOT me!” Simon protests. But no one listens.
Richard “The IT Crowd” Ayoade, who directed the dark and dense teen romance
“Submarine,” concentrates on externals, here. “The Double” looks like science
fiction, a “Dark City” built around a Kafka-esque nightmare of a Dostoevsky
story. Ayoade’s background means he plays up the humor inherent in this
scenario, at least partly through casting. Shawn is perfect as a grating boob of
a boss, Sally Hawkins makes a dry, contemptuous receptionist, one of many who
refuse to acknowledge that Simon exists.
But Eisenberg, perfectly, pliably put upon, is the engine that drives this
picture. Simon’s inept longing for Hannah, for human connection of any sort,
shows in his hurt eyes. And Eisenberg is just as convincing as James, whose
cocky patter and arrogance seem a natural extension of Eisenberg’s turn in “The
Social Network.” One guy we fear for, the other we fear.
It’s not a great or a deep take on identity, or even that novel as a concept.
Dostoevsky wrote “The Double” in 1846, and the timeless theme is mostly what
resonates here, not the muc- imitated sense of future past that Ayoade & Co.
borrow (see “Brazil”). But as with “Enemy,” what’s worth the price of admission
is the acting exercise, the subtle wonders of seeing a great talent create two
versions of the same man with just downcast eyes, stooped shoulders and a
difference in walks — one confident, conniving, the other hesitant, just
waiting for that next hurt and humiliation.

MPAA Rating:R for language
Cast: Jesse Eisenberg, Mia Wasikowska, Wallace Shawn, James Fox, Sally
Hawkins
Credits: Written and directed by Richard Ayoade, based on a novel by Fyodor
Dostoevsky. A Magnolia release.
Running time: 1:33