Flipping through the cable channels, I came across the rotund visage of one Martin Villafana, dancing around a room in a stilted pirouette and not unlike rubbernecking at a traffic accident, I was compelled to watch. I later watched the film, The Planet of Junior Brown, in its entirety and I wished the rest of the film weren't so beholden in tone and mood to that initial scene I was exposed to. While I admittedly still look forward to read the novel on which this film is based, I have many problems with the piece of celluloid I have before me. Instead of grounding its many dreamlike moments with instances which harken to reality, we're given a film which feels like something remembered, forgotten, or indexed from someone's fevered yet bittersweet memories. Although I empathize with Junior's plight since I am a person with a weight problem, I really think some of the choices the director and scenarist made about this piano virtuoso ultimately betrayed what they were going for. What's left is a promising yet still empty afterschool special.