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.