On the surface, the misunderstanding that drives this movie—a woman forced out of her home due to a minor tax error—seems remarkably commonplace. Why then, does this movie end in such overwrought melodrama?
We'll tell you why: The mundane source of conflict is a device to take you off guard. We're forced to sit through over 126 minutes of Jennifer Connelly's moping and Ben Kingsley's Middle Eastern accent as they squabble over real estate, all the while not understanding where it's all going. It drums up sympathy for the Middle Eastern family, showing Kingsley working a slew of thankless jobs, and manages to make us question authority thanks to a meddling cop who beds Connelly and takes it upon himself to insert himself in the drama.
The heartbreaking conclusion comes out of left field and leaves us with an unshakable feeling that every minute of the longest two hours of our life was merely an elaborate, shameless attempt at manipulating our emotions and leading us to this very moment. There are effective ways to demonstrate that family is important and possessions are not, but this sadly contrived plot was not one of them.