The cloistered widow of a rock legend (Rebecca Miller) whose one-hit-wonder legacy she aims to protect, is stalked by a cheeky, “back East” college professor (Jason Sudeikis) shopping a scholarly tome. Minutes into their first sit down, she clicks off his recording device and snorts, “I don’t have to worry. No one is going to read this book.” Miller’s deft handling of drop dead dialogue is such that one would welcome another remake of His Girl Friday just to see how she’d spin Hildy. But the acreage of colorable exchanges rookie writer-director Sean Mewshaw turns over can’t atone for the otherwise binding romantic finagling and half-convincingly extended eleventh-hour twist. Mewshaw clumsily piles on the death obsession to the point that, even when supplied with boffo comebacks, the psychological baggage Sudeikis comes strapped with makes him no match for Hall’s chary widow. With strong supporting work from old favorites Griffin Dunne, Blythe Danner, and Richard Masur. (2015) — Scott Marks