Call me sexist, but I reckon The Notebook is the definitive chick flick. Not because of the woefully clichéd story, just-rough-enough male lead and cheesy-as-hell “I-wrote-you-every-day” line. These things don’t hinder the case but the real reason I have this opinion is I have never personally encountered a woman who hates it. Most of the male film fiends I know groan at its mere mention. The female cinephiles on the other hand (all of whom have opinions I usually respect) tend to shuffle their feet as they sheepishly admit they “sorta, kinda, like it”. This overlong intro is designed to show you: I don’t get this stuff, so feel free to disregard the following vilification of a film based on a book by the same author.
Initially Dear John promised more. This time the male lead, John (Channing Tatum), is almost a person rather than a cardboard cut-out. Its clichés are also as much about making Savannah (Amanda Seyfried) an adorable and quirky saviour for John, as they are showing how brooding and troubled he is.
Halfway through however, the wheels fall off dramatically. Character and motivation go out the window as we lose Savannah’s screen time, never to identify with her again. The film paints itself into a corner morally speaking, and we stop understanding why we should care about their feelings for each other. Tatum is still charismatic, Seyfried is even quite good (despite having little to work with), there’s even a great turn from Richard Jenkins as John’s father; but Dear John fails in the final delivery.
Never thought I’d say it, but this isn’t even The Notebook.
