The two male protagonists in this film were clearly chosen for their pectorals rather than for their acting ability, and that about sums up the general quality of this forgettable drama. With the exception of S. Lue McWilliams who, as the dying mother (and only grownup), has too few moments on screen, the acting is very "daytime soap" – in short, overwrought and about as subtle as a crutch. Karmine Alers in particular starts at about 120% pit bull and ramps up from there. In most of her scenes you're too worried that she's going to have a stroke to pay attention to what she's saying. The scene in which she supposedly softens enough to expose her "true soul" by singing, a cappella, a banal Britney Spears knockoff is almost too painful to watch. The real dog of this movie, however, is the direction and the screenplay, maladroitly handled in both cases by Richard LeMay. LeMay shows that he understands approximately nothing about pacing, and there so many crescendo moments that the overall effect is numbing rather than engaging. The characters fight about the same things, over and over. They say the same terrible things to each other, over and over. They come to moments of gut-wrenching emotional crisis, over and over. And then they make breakfast. It's about as amateur as it comes, and LeMay cries wolf too many times. When we finally reach the final scene, Elliot's deathless lines can only provoke peals of laughter. For the entire rest of this film, his character has displayed the emotional depth of a garden gnome, and his sudden moment of deep, voiced-over wisdom is an unbelievable, unearned fortune-cookie aphorism.