I was prepared to like this movie, as it was referred to me by some Generation Y (born after 1978) women with whom I do business, and I usually like sentimental "chick flick" movies. But I did not expect it to be so engaging. For one thing, I did not realize until the credits started, that Rockford—er James Garner—was a principal character.
Or Gena Rowlands for that matter.
These two are such masters of the art of acting; anyone could have written the script or the book behind it. Well, not quite. The story is based on the novel by Nicholas Sparks (Message in a Bottle, A Walk to Remember), an ardent sentimentalist to be sure, but not a shameless wet-eye opportunist... though many critics seem to disagree with me on this point.
The story begins in a retirement-nursing home where Noah Calhoun (Garner) and some other members of the family visit with his sweetheart of many years Allie Calhoun (Rowlands), who has an Alzheimer's-like disease. Though she thinks Noah is just one of the medical team, she enjoys it when he reads stories to her daily from his notebook. Hence, the movie's title.
The story has conventional syrupy elements, and it is set in North Carolina near the sea. Young Noah (Ryan Gosling) becomes thoroughly entranced with the young Allie (Rachel McAdams), but she's a rich girl with a protective mama (Joan Allen). Their relationship is sealed by love during a romantic night at a classic old home Noah has inherited from his father, and then fixed up with years of hard work.
During the WWII years, Noah goes off and writes Allie a letter every day—much as he now reads to her daily—but Allie's mother intercepts and hides the letters (the bitch). Allie, thinking Noah no longer cares, becomes engaged to another man. Her fiancé is a great guy with all the social pedigree, but she really doesn't love him. Ultimately, these matters sort themselves out, Allie finds the letters, and she and Noah find true love.
Then flash to the present time, in which Allie has suffered for a while with the mental darkness. Noah (Garner) is constantly hoping to reach her, to see a sign of light, of recognition. I don't want to give anything away here, but supposedly true Alzheimer's in its full measure does not let any light in. The curtain closes irrevocably, which makes Alzheimer's the horrifying disease it is.
One of the reviews I read mentioned the movie Iris as a better story about true life with Alzheimer's, and the actors in that movie are also world class. But you know what, I much prefer sloppy sentimentality to true grit in return for my entertainment dollar. I recall once renting the movie, Wit, starring Emma Thompson. Very good movie—a woman dies of cancer, blow by blow. But I came away wanting to slit my wrists... and I'm pretty sure the people I convinced to watch it with me wanted to hand me the knife.
Life is too depressing already, so if we get a sugarcoated version of a near-miss Alzheimer's, who cares. It's believable and conceivable. Sad without being maudlin. The stuff that love is made of. Three puffs and a kernel from the Popcorn man.
Popcorn
from the Popcorn Gallery
Intergalactic Hyperchick-Kernels Starlight, Sunshine, and Moonbeam
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