Film Review: “The Fault in Our Stars”
Those of us who were alive in 1970 will remember (and not fondly) the book and film “Love Story.”
When I recently saw “The Fault in Our Stars” I feared yet another version of young love/rs dying young. While these these literary and cinematic tropes are certainly there and inescapable, like death, they are only distant echoes of the maudlin sounds and images we have come to expect. I have not read the book and so have no comment, but the screenwriters (one of whom is Scott Neustadter, who wrote the excellent screenplay for a film that also stars Shailene Woodley and deserves far more attention than it received–”The Spectacular Now”) avoided (ALMOST) all of the sentimental and maudlin crap that has bedeviled so many lesser works.
To summarize the plot would state the obvious (yeah, young people dying and in love) and be far too simple. Yes, bring the hankies or your sleeve if you must, but the film is intelligent and thoughtful, even if it did not quite seem to know when to end, other than at the obvious stopping point of the grave. (The stuttering ending may well have been faithful to the book: I don’t know.)
While I am a fan of Willem Dafoe and could not help but want to see more of his sneering, dyspeptic drunk, I know the film belongs to the younger stars, all of whom shine (yes, I said “stars” and “shine” and I am tired and am clearly not editing this as I write): Shailene Woodley and Ansel Elgort. Everyone was good–not a false note or flawed performance in the film, although it would be good to see a film or TV performance in which Laura Dern does not look like she has left her house an hour ago, and just realized she left the stove on.
