Across the country, actors, directors and theater types of all kinds are touching themselves thinking about another director (Henry Jaglom) making another movie about them. Like many films before it ("Bullets Over Broadway," "A Midwinter's Tale"), this one is based on the faulty premise that theater people resemble actual human beings.

The most repulsive part of the movie is that Jaglom and co-writer Victoria Foyt arrogantly assume that anybody, except for their close circle of acting freak friends, gives a pus-filled boil about whether or not stage actors can function like normal people in private. If Jaglom's film is any indication, they cannot.

As members of the theatrical family in this film gather at their Hamptons estate for the very last time, they remind one of lunatics in an insane asylum. Every little emotion is over-the-top. What's sick about this film is that Jaglom probably wants people to think it's "art" since he's an independent filmmaker with a tiny budget. Actually, Jaglom comes across less like an "artist" and more like, if I may use the technical term, an "intellectual dickhead." Jaglom has made the art house version of a live-action cartoon and likely doesn't even know it.