A psychiatric intern brings his upper-crusty East Coast fiancée (at work on her dissertation on the reproductive activities of the fruit fly) to stay in his mother's house in the Hollywood Hills. But his mother, a free-as-the-breeze record producer, hasn't yet vacated the premises as agreed, along with the British rock band whose much younger lead singer is her current lover. ("She's really weird," the son draws upon his analytical training. "Probably a developmental disorder.") Plot mechanics, character chemistry, and lighten-up philosophy -- "It's okay to leave the Ivory Tower and live a little" -- are easy to imagine as a mainstream comedy, after appropriate casting changes, budget augmentations, and four or five re-writes to reduce the intervals between laugh lines and heighten the volume of the laughs. In fact, if it were a foreign film instead of a mere "indie" (from High Art's Lisa Cholodenko), it would be ripe for a remake, possibly retailored for Meg Ryan and Jon Bon Jovi, and directed by Garry or Penny Marshall. As it is, we can be thankful there was a part in it for the inimitable Frances McDormand. (Not only a part, but a nude scene -- or maybe not exactly a nude scene, but a nude frame or two -- a Meryl Streepian Academy Award-winner's dramatically justifiable nipple flash.) And Kate Beckinsale always has more to offer than just her good looks and flawless American accent. Meretriciousness nevertheless runs rampant. Christian Bale, Natascha McElhone, Alessandro Nivola. (2003) — Duncan Shepherd