To say nothing of passive-aggressive, knee-jerkisms, those of us who weren't weaned on the idea that the box has a uh wonderful kind of negative capacity (to quote a non-existent Breillat-Allen coupling), would do well to check out the latest John Irving adaptation, Door in the Floor. Sure, there's the overly-literary bend of the title metaphor – referring to anything from latent hysteria to the dimensions of Kim Basinger's womb – but that's sort of forgiven by a final shot which compounds the abstract and real in a way that's pretty fucking unnerving.