We know that firefighters and rescue workers are heroes: an idée reçue few would challenge. Friends and family of these and others who perished in the attacks on the World Trade Center might well be moved by this vapid play turned film. A sweet, earnest, though tongue-tied fireman recalls what he can of lost colleagues to a benumbed journalist who converts his fragments into a eulogy. They ponder the results. He mumbles some more, she composes another eulogy, etc., etc.

The dreadful events that provoked the need for several thousand eulogies is overwhelmingly sad, but this plodding insipid dramatization is distressingly boring.

I almost never cry at movies, but Anthony LaPaglia had me tearing up all through this movie. I'm not a big fan of soppy platitudes about 9-11, but this movie was very touching. It dismissed a lot of the big-picture stuff in favour of the minutia of people's lives that make them worth knowing about. This is a story about humans, not heroes, which I found refreshing.

Sigourney Weaver is also very good, as usual.

My only complaint is that there were a few instances of repetition in the writing. I'm not sure if that was supposed to be deliberate, as in the character repeating himself out of angst and stress, or if it was bad script editing. I noticed it though because it was jarring, which means if it was supposed to be there, it wasn't handled expertly by the writer. That could have used some polishing.

Other than that, I thought this was a good movie, especially if you're a LaPaglia fan as I am.