I have to admit, I expected to be immune to “The Notebook.” I knew of its reputation for being the treacliest of treacly girl movies, and of its origins in a Nicholas Sparks novel, that purveyor of the highest form of romantic schlock. So you can imagine my displeasure when I burst into tears and cried for at least the last forty minutes of the movie. What happened to me? I thought I was cool.
“The Notebook” tells the intersecting stories of Noah (Ryan Gosling) and Allie (Rachel McAdams), a star-crossed young couple; and of an elderly man and an old woman who has dementia. (I bet you can guess where this is going.) As a conceit for the film, the old man reads the story of the young couple to the old woman, who sees it as nothing more than a romantic tale.
In a way, the young couple’s story reminds me very much of “Atonement,” a much, much better movie about some of the same things (young lovers torn apart by class, wartime separation, fun period costumes, etc.) But the thing is, the plotline surrounding the young people really isn’t that compelling. It’s fine for a romance, but this is before Ryan Gosling becomes the most Iconically Sexy Man in the Known Universe — he’s a little goofy-looking — and McAdams’ lively performance doesn’t really make up for a dull screenplay. (Noah: “You don’t know me, but I know me.” Gripping.)
The story has some other problems, including Allie’s tony Charlestonian mother doing a mysterious 180 and speaking up for true love for no apparent reason, but it doesn’t take away from the great tragedy of the elderly pair’s tale. This, I think, is the really meaningful and affecting part of this movie, and I begrudgingly allow that it probably wouldn’t have worked without the “setup” of the young couple. Fuck, even on its own it’s a horrible idea: everybody you ever love will die, after being weakened and hobbled by the cruelty of senescence. James Garner and Gena Rowland are wonderful in their parts as the older protagonists – Rowland doesn’t play up the haunted confusion of dementia until the movie’s climax; and as aging actors, it must be so difficult to play these sorts of roles while knowing what’s ahead. Ugh, I’m getting misty-eyed just thinking about it.
Overall: a tearjerker, even for you cynical blogger types.
P.S. As a completely unrelated feminist aside, it’s a little annoying to see my millionth romantic movie where the man pursues the woman. Are there some good romances out there where the woman pursues the man? The only one I can think of offhand is “Dirty Dancing.”
