At this point in Morgan Freeman’s career, I wish he’d just say, “Screw all y’all, I’m not doing voice-over narration any more.” Even his solemn baritone can’t lend gravitas to this clutter of urban sentimentality, focused on an elderly couple named Alex (Freeman) and Ruth (Diane Keaton) struggling with the decision to put their Brooklyn walk-up apartment up for sale after 40 years. Charlie Peters’ screenplay packs on a lot of business—news broadcasts about terrorist fears; a life-threatening surgery for Alex and Ruth’s pet dog; flashbacks to key moments in the couple’s back-when-it-was-problematic racially-mixed marriage—that are either too obvious in their thematic significance or ignore potentially more interesting plot threads. And that’s saying nothing of the absurd amount of time spent on back-and-forth real estate bids, and a parade of intentionally irritating clichés of upscale New Yorkers. No movie that allows Freeman and Keaton time together can be a complete failure, but the most wisdom it can muster is Freeman intoning, “Maybe views are for young people who still have things to look at.” By Scott Renshaw