Elder abuse or actor abuse, or both? Donald Sutherland is more ham here than Porky Pig, shamelessly overplaying the pitiful character of an oversexed businessman, far too busy caring about the escapades he's having underneath his Wurlitzer organ while his heartbroken wife, Lolita Davidovich, is busy right underneath it having a heart attack preparing to die. She comes back as her spirit, and he begins to fall in love with her all over again, while son Brendan Fraser, comes to terms with the fact that his mother's dead and dad wants him to remain around so they can go into business together building up a chain of cheap storage units.

The symbolism goes overboard (and so will the copy of this movie into my trash compacter) in a black comedy that has no reason for being. It's a waste of the talents of Sally Kellerman as an eccentric glamour queen acquaintance of Sutherland's and Linda Hunt as another local, as well as Julie Delpy as Fraser's love interest. I've never experienced such ugliness wrapped up with so many talents, and it's one of the few times where I absolutely despised everything about Sutherland as both his character and for his self-indulgent performance. This tries to be witty and original, but the result is completely insufferable. I never ever want to hear Sutherlajf sing again.

I don't care what some nonchalant critic thought of this movie. It was very good and it was very clean cut. Even without the hidden and over-inflated sex scene which showed nothing at all other than a comical attribute the movie shined as something I would take my kids to go see. It's a movie about life and sometimes this shix hat happens in life. Moving and touching is how I would describe it. Because it didn't have the hallmarks of common Hollywood crap I guess that nobody liked it.

U.S.-German co-production about the stylish owner of an ramshackle storage facility in Los Angeles and his eccentric staff and clientele. Director and co-writer Percy Adlon, who also served as associate producer, could have used some extra help here; everything has been scaled so broadly (beginning the overacting German woman in the first scene) that one immediately begins to seek some natural light relief or a conversation that holds a modicum of truth. As the devil-may-care owner in love with Los Angeles and the ladies, Donald Sutherland (dressed like an old-time silver fox) has a few nice bits but certainly not enough; it simply isn't there in the writing. There's nothing wrong with character portraits or in putting the emphasis on people over plot, but first the writers needed to come up with some fascinating individuals for their scenario. This one doesn't have them. * from ****