Brett’s novel was praised for the delicacy with which it balanced the tragic and the ruefully sardonic in its discourse between the generations. In contrast, the film hammers home its every point.

Both leads are horribly miscast. Dunham drags out the same tired, unlikable character she’s been playing her entire career. This film often feels like an episode of “Girls” where Hannah Horvath goes to Lodz.

Neither Fry nor Dunham manage to disappear into their roles; and the film never really springs to life, plodding from moment to moment with leaden feet.

In order for a movie so hell-bent on succeeding as a tearjerker to actually convince its audience to snivel, it has to give them a reason to connect to its narrative first. Treasure never provides us with that opportunity.