“There is not much point throwing Channing Tatum and Amanda Seyfried into a movie together if they can’t devote every waking minute to making out.”
Dear John was horrible. Every waking minute of it was like putting my head through a glass window, hoping that each shard would pinch me fast enough to let me down easily. Not only do Tatum and fish-eyed Seyfried have lack any kind of romantic chemistry, but the movie is not a love story…of any sort. If anything, it is a story about a selfish boy, seeking to find himself amist army recruits, gunshots, and surfboards. The recurring ”letter” is not even developed enough to be considered a motif, as I am sure it was intended to be. Although I was surprised at Tatum’s ability to mold into some sort of sensitivity, Seyfried backfires any kind of sweet demeanor as every time she appears on screen, I got an immediate flashback to her early days on Mean Girls, where her only memorable line was one about how she could predict the weather with her breasts.
Furthermore, the plot of the story lacks total development and any kind of central idea or form. I still am perplexed as to what was the final lesson of it all—what was the worth of years of anguish and hopeless love. I feel like there could have been a better climax (if there even was one at all in the movie). In fact, as horrible as the following idea may sound, I truly believe that the loverboy (Tatum) should have died. THis would have been a more interesting turnover. I do still like how both he and his father had their closing in the beginning letter that everyone in the audience probably thought was for Seyfried; and it might have been impossible to have made Tatum die, while still allowing that final point of connection before his father would pass on.
I am also shocked seeing that the movie was actually Rated R. The only thing that I could think of that may qualify the movie to be rated as such is perhaps the seemingly infinitely long sex scene that fills the screen for an abrupt 5 minutes, during which the action of the scene does not even show anything that cannot already be seen on a regular show on MTV. The scene does not establish much, except a desire-filled submission to raunchy and tactless thoughts.
Though I will admit a few instances worthy to be considered “tear-jerkers,” the movie did not establish one underlying theme that could have cast some sort of sadness, or even happiness. The struggle between Tatum and his father to connect is the only sort of relation to feeling morose or sympathetic, but even this is too short and restrained to allow the movie some sort of credit for being worthwhile to watch.
The ending, as many others have condemned, did not spark any sort of indignant feeling as did the last hour of the film. I expected it to end badly, as I had no idea how the movie would pull together all the complications it had already established into one hearty happy feel-good ending. I understood the off-handed peculiar finality that the director was probably hoping for (similar to one like the movie, “The Breakup”), but this ending did not fit well. It was molded out of sudden necessity to refrain from satisfying audience expectation and to leave them confused, yet partly impressed with a superficial depth—which is what the movie mostly consisted of: scenes that were meant to be deeply involved with feelings, but underdeveloped with zero appeal to real emotions.
I would have rather stayed home, sat before my television, and watched an entire episode of Jersey Shore, as I am sure that would have brought me to better tears than did what had been the widely-anticipated, now horribly-rated film, Dear John.
