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If, as they say, you're in a certain mood,
Message in a Bottle can be just the ticket. Based on Nicholas Sparks's
bestselling novel, this handsome but overly calculated romance tale stars Robin Wright Penn as Theresa, a
Chicago Tribune researcher who finds a note encased in a green bottle that has floated onto a Cape Cod shore. The message within is a heartfelt, yearning declaration of love to a woman named Catherine, but the author is unknown until Theresa (rather improbably) tracks him down in North Carolina. He's Garret Blake (Kevin Costner), a taciturn builder of sailboats and a grieving widower whose late wife, poetically speaking, was the intended recipient of the seafaring note Theresa found. Theresa, a divorcée with a son, decides to meet Garret, only to find him as bottled-up as his message. Nevertheless, a romance blooms on the strength of quality time in a sailboat and lots of cuddling, though the script tosses in bits of conflict to keep their relationship spicy. Directed by Luis Mandoki (
When a Man Loves a Woman), this love story is entirely by the numbers, with Costner inhabiting (rather than performing) a stock fantasy of a man perfect in every way save his broken heart. Penn brings more vibrancy to her equally predictable part, but fortunately for all, Paul Newman, John Savage, Robbie Coltrane, and Illeana Douglas are on hand in nicely textured character parts. Sometimes predictability is exactly what one wants when settling in for an evening of home video, and this movie fits the bill nicely. The appealing cinematography is by ace cameraman Caleb Deschanel.
--Tom Keogh
Slop made respectable by the application of sombre good taste. Robin Wright Penn is a lonely Chicago newspaperwoman who, on a Cape Cod beach, picks up a bottle containing a letter in which a man apologizes fervently to his wife for not taking better care of her. It seems that this mournful-moony romantic is dotting the seven seas with his remorse. Wright Penn searches for him, and he turns out to be Kevin Costner, widowed and in retreat-withdrawn, surly, but shining with inner nobility. They commence a nuzzling, tepid affair that consists of much leaning against driftwood around campfires-they could be the impersonally handsome models in an ad for expensive sweaters. The director, Luis Mandoki, working from a dreadful best-seller by Nicholas Sparks, has entered the land of "women's films," but his picture lacks the emotional volatility and intelligence of work by such predecessors as King Vidor and Michael Curtiz. This movie is merely glum. As Wright Penn flutters nervously, Costner gives her nothing, letting her die on the vine. It's an extremely ungallant performance. With Paul Newman and Illeana Douglas. -David Denby
Copyright © 2006
The New Yorker