This is a movie about painters in Paris that tells us nothing about painting and shows us nothing of Paris. (Even a little stock footage would have been welcome.) The most profound observation anyone in the movie makes about Modigliani's work is that he exaggerates the length of the neck. To add a little excitement to the mix, characters fire guns in one another's general direction (twice) and the manner of Modigliani's death is irresponsibly fictionalized. At least I consider it irresponsible, because people will come to the movie not knowing the facts and come away thinking they've learned them. Andy Garcia is to be commended for taking the title role-- Modigliani is worth a movie, and I'm sure no one set out to make it a bad one-- but he is less convincing and interesting than the supporting actors who bring Soutine, Utrillo, and especially Renoir to life.