Tedious, meaningless sex. This flick fakes some sort of meaning or profundity but, truly, as I'm sure many are aware, is just a bunch o' porn for teenyboppers.
Additional comments: the dialogue is incredibly contrived and unrealistic, the background music is extremely unsuitable throughout, and the sadomasochism is barely even a single shade of fucked-up compared to the realities of violent sex.
I witnessed about 30 minutes of this atrocity on TV today. This is the epitome of my least favorite movie. As a matter of fact, I'm seriously leaning toward forming an argument that Nicholas Sparks is bad for the world, that he influences youth in terrible ways and that he's an objectively worthless writer.
I loved this film within seconds. The first shot is an immediate representation of the magnificent cinematography that is on display throughout the subsequent hour and forty-five minutes. It is clear that every single shot in the movie was scrupulously positioned and executed, as though it were specifically contrived to parallel the meticulousness of the protagonist therein. Melville's and Decaë’s bravura is evident throughout, and I particularly admired their impeccable use of symmetry.
The first twenty minutes of the film…