Fiona has Alzheimers. She is in an assisted living home. Her husband, Grant, is struggling with not only her absence, but her apparent love for another man — a fellow patient. Grant has had a disappointing visit with the man’s wife, Marian, an embittered realist. But there’s something warm and human behind the facade, so I’m pulling for the two of them to connect when, lo, a call comes in to Grant’s answering machine. It is Marian. Yes. Yes. Yes. She invites him to a dance and leaves her callback number.

555-3457.

Great Swayze’s Ghost, slap me in the face with the poster. I forgot I was watching a movie. And it was the otherwise wonderful “Away from Her.” Sure is nice to get that 555 wake-up call.

Trucks explode, ghosts appear, men fall from 100-story buildings, snakes slither out of airplane luggage racks, Eddie Murphy disappears into every conceivable fat-suit, couples have sex without disturbing the modestly arranged sheets. Thousands of other impossibilities take place every movie season, costing millions. And the producers can’t buy a fucking realistic phone number.

Even if you have to keep the number in perpetuity so no numbnuts ever disturbs an innocent citizen, you could set up a trust. I’ll bet $10,000 would guarantee the number forever. They’ll spend that much on CGI to blacken one poppyseed on a bagel.

If anybody knows why this absurd convention cannot be surmounted, please let me know. Call me at 1-800-555-3457.