Look, if you're going to cast Richard Gere as a borderline alcoholic, slightly spaced-out homeless person, it's not enough to give him a bad haircut and some stubble. Put some grit into that honeyed voice. Grind some dirt into those graying-eminence creases on the forehead and around the eyes. Otherwise, instead of coming off as a derelict wretch at the end of a ten-year bender, he seems more like a guy who spent a weekend partying harder than his years allow. It's not enough to be forever viewing him through smeary-bleary windows — subway, storage room, hospital, coffee shop, bar, etc. — and surrounding him with the racket of the (colorful, lively) New York City streets. Put simply: director Oren Moverman (Rampart) doesn't seem all that interested in the grimy horror of homelessness except insofar as it gives him an opportunity to show Gere in the midst of an identity crisis: who am I, and how do I fit into the world? It's not bad as far as that goes (the use of a garrulous wingnut as still, small voice was cleverly done), but it's a long, slow slog with a few too many detours — that is, unless you can't get enough of weary Gere's handsome mug. (2015) — Matthew Lickona
This movie is not currently in theaters.