Tonight I saw 1408, starring John Cusack and Samuel L. Jackson.
It's Kafka-esque kookiness with a bit of sadness...and a bit of humor thrown in.
The film focuses on author Michael Enslin (Cusack), who travels to 'haunted' hotels and reports on their paranormal (or just normal) activity. We soon learn he is a skeptic who recently left his wife after their only daughter died at a young age. His vices apparently include drinking and surfing. He is sarcastic and jaded and every other stereotype that writers are supposed to be.
After he receives an anonymous postcard to visit the Dolphin Hotel in New York City, he takes the bait and attempts to book the room referenced on the card. When he's unable to do this on his own, he gets his literary agent and lawyer involved and they force the issue. When he arrives at the hotel, a typically-charismatic Samuel L. Jackson (playing the manager) pleads with him to stay away from the room.
Now Samuel is wonderful, but the I-could-open-a-can-of-whoop-ass-on-you-in-an-instant rhythm of his speech is such a distraction, it's hard to take him seriously. And along the same lines, although Cusack is supposed to be a messed up, faithless woman deserter, he still somehow manages to be likable—even attractive at times.
But I digress.
At the heart of the movie is a man who is lost in grief and subconsciously hoping to find proof of something else in the universe.
In room 1408, he finds it and we jump.