Treasure

Brett’s novel was praised for the delicacy with which it balanced the tragic and the ruefully sardonic in its discourse between the generations. In contrast, the film hammers home its every point.

Both leads are horribly miscast. Dunham drags out the same tired, unlikable character she’s been playing her entire career. This film often feels like an episode of “Girls” where Hannah Horvath goes to Lodz.

Neither Fry nor Dunham manage to disappear into their roles; and the film never really springs to life, plodding from moment to moment with leaden feet.

It’s all a little too lightweight, and not above corniness and sentimentality, but it does earn its little emotional breakthroughs, modest as they are.

While Dunham and Fry are both first-rate performers, their respective personae — both public and on-screen — are difficult for them to fully transcend.

But whatever complexities might come across in the book don’t register in a film that has been fashioned, sometimes uneasily, into a sentimental father-daughter road movie.

The treasure is in the well-cast central duo.

No longer having to live up to media hype, Dunham has become a terrific actress.

Despite the heavy subject matter, you never get entirely pulled into the story&#59; you’re always aware that it’s just a movie, that Dunham and Fry are just playing characters, regardless of whether they’re based on real people. 


The attempt to inject comedy into such a serious subject feels misplaced.