Chica De Mostrador

I hope for Steve Martin's sake (and book sales) that the novella on which this desultory movie is based is better than the movie itself.

Claire Danes, who I wanted desperately to like, gives a catatonic performance as a lonely young woman looking for love, or at least human contact, in L.A. A love triangle of sorts develops between her, a wacky spaced-out nice guy (Jason Schwartzman) and an older, very well off divorcée (Steve Martin), who's nearly as catatonic as Danes. Absolutely nothing of significance or originality happens as this story builds toward a conclusion you can predict before the opening credits have even finished rolling. The characters played by Danes and Martin are such drips that you can't muster up one iota of interest in what happens to either of them or their love affair. The film moves at a woeful pace, and everything's set to a funereal, repetitive string score. The only life in the film comes from Schwartzman, who has far too small a role. In fact, why not just make a movie about him next time?

Grade: C-