I can summarise Nights in Rodanthe pretty quickly: Crap. Holy fucking shit, it’s bad.
Seriously… I knew that I wouldn’t be seeing the film of the year when I went to the cinema to watch it. But Nicholas Sparks is usually better than that [mild disclaimer: Have only seen movie adaptations and never read a book by him].
But I probably should have taken notice, when deadra told me about this one review she read, which basically said that the director should be whacked over the head with the screenplay because that used to be a fine book. I’m totally with that. No matter whether the book was good or not.
Anyway, the story had tear jerker potential. Definitely. Unforunately, mostly it was so stupid that I could never get into the mood. [I probably should start bringing a sign with me when I watch movies like that in the cinema: WARNING! Snark in Progress.] But let me tell you about the stupidity, it’s always the most fun to read that…
You have to consenting, single adults. Their chemistry is sizzling. What do you have to do to make them kiss? Right. There has to be a storm, which makes a cupboard almost fall on her, so he can save her life. Then they might kiss.
Imagine, you take a walk on the beach. Suddenly, a herd of wild horses come galopping along. Very close. What is your reaction? Right. You drop to your knees. But only, if you can’t lay flat on the ground to ensure the trampling…
She spends the whole time during the day on the beach with at least three layers on. That’s sensible, it’s autumn and I guess rather cold. But when she goes out in the evening, she doesn’t even bother to wear sleeves?
And Nights in Rodanthe definitely takes away the prize for the worst euphemism for nipple. Post office. Post office! If any guys ever refers to any part of me as the post office, I’m going to kick him out of my bed and never let him back. Ever.
Summarising: Don’t bother watching. In fact, destroy every copy of this movie you can find.