This movie (House of Sand and Fog) lacks so much it's hard to make a list.
Here's what it has. Gloriously globular breasts added to the Jennifer Connelly physique. They're everywhere. In a lovely rose bra, pressing against a sweater about 3 inches from the lens while erect, in some totally blah nude love making scenes.
I'm not going to go on at length about this disaster. First of all, recently reformed alcoholics, who presumably are not attending AA sessions any longer (and why isn't she?), aren't the sweet, innocent doe-eyed "OK, I'm alone, the hubster isn't loving, but not a real bastard" types Connelly plays. They're in pain and wrestling with their disease.
This is not truth. It may not be truth that they wouldn't open their pay-up envelopes, but paralysis and self-destructiveness, may be truth.