Gushingly sentimental and wooden adaptation of a Stephen King novel in which Anthony Hopkins plays Ted Brautigan, a mysterious elderly chap who moves into a loft apartment above single mother, Liz (Davis) and her 11-year-old son, Bobby (Yelchin). Bobby's mother is self-obsessed, so the young boy strikes up a friendship with Ted. But the mind-reading Ted (I'm not making this up) has his own problems, as shadowy trench coated men are determined to capture him. Shamelessly manipulative and forced, Hicks' direction redefines the word 'mawkish', while the once great William Goldman's screenplay, with its pseudo-spiritualistic dialogue and muddled characters, implies that he mistakes dewy-eyed nostalgia for emotional depth. The usually reliable Hopkins gives a genuinely baffling performance. Although he's supposed to fulfill the role of a kindly father figure for Bobby, his tics and mannerisms aren't too far removed from his Hannibal Lecter persona. His foil, Yelchin, is far too wholesome to be believable, and overacts to an atrocious degree. Even the cinematography, supplied by the late Piotr Sobocinski, looks far too polished and glossy to be authentic. Avoid if you enjoy challenging or intelligent cinema.
