Corny ‘Four Letters of Love’ is unadulterated treacle
The Irish are famous for their blarney, but the schmaltz-ified “Four Letters of Love” wields it like a 10-pound shillelagh. It’s so prevalent you’d swear director Polly Steele is intent on injecting artificial sweetener directly into our veins, creating a sickening high so intense it threatens to rot your teeth, if not your brain.
I’d label it substance abuse, but there’s little or no substance to scripter Niall Williams’ adaptation of his best-selling novel about how a lad and lass became one through a fanciful combination of fate and divine intervention. Their road to destiny is paved with grand gestures and cringeworthy prose, conveyed in grating voiceover by the wannabe poet, Nicholas Coughlan (Fionn O’Shea), an alleged wordsmith who has a propensity for the obvious with such stirring phrases as “I write these words on the page.”
Sure, he’s a pipsqueak cipher with no presence, but that’s apparently of no consequence to his beloved Isabel Gore (Ann Skelly), a lovely creature who gets a wee bit of a tingle just thinking about a fella capable of penning such ardent sentiment as, “I close my eyes and wait. And you are here, past and present at the same time.” Huh?
If you’re wondering where Nick got his “talent,” look no further than his father, William (Pierce Brosnan), a total nutjob who quits his boring position at the home office in Dublin because “God spoke” to him. Apparently, in addition to his other duties, the Lord dabbles in career counseling, implicitly instructing William to adopt the life of a vagabond artist despite a wife, Bette (Imelda May), and a son to support. So he grows his silver hair to his shoulders and sets off to seek inspiration in nature. So what if that means ditching his family for long stretches and hopping a bus to the other side of the Emerald Isle, which mysteriously calls to him? What harm can it do? It’s not going to kill anyone. Oh, wait…
No matter. Mere collateral damage on the pathway to Nick’s paradise, because if Pops didn’t go off the deep end, he’d never meet Isabel. That’s the crazy logic at work in this convoluted tale that follows both Nick and Isabel as they face multiple trials and tribulations on the way to fulfilling their destiny of being one. So, back and forth we go. On one coast, Nick is growing morose over Da’s bizarre behavior, and on a tiny, quaint island to the west, Isabel is dealing with her own issues.
You see, her older brother and best friend, Sean (Dónal Finn), has suffered a stroke, leaving him unable to walk or talk. This, of course, means that their Mam (Helena Bonham Carter) and Da (Gabriel Byrne) must send Isabel off to the city to be schooled by nuns. Okayyy… It’s about as rational as Isabel falling for Peader (Ferdia Walsh-Peelo), the slightly creepy son of a local shopkeeper who possesses all the charisma of a doorknob. Despite not loving him, or he her, they get married. Why? Because the dopey plot demands it.
What ensues is pure drivel, as hardship and “miracles” walk hand in hand until William’s prophecy of joy for all but him and Bette comes to fruition. No matter that none of it rings true or makes a lick of sense. Are we supposed to feel good about the world because two insignificants like Nick and Isabel found each other? What makes them so special? Don’t most of us embark on similar journeys to find our soulmate? The difference is that most of those journeys aren’t this cloying.
It’s a problem compounded by the total lack of chemistry between O’Shea and Skelly. Heck, she ignites more of a spark opposite Finn. Perhaps the two males should have swapped roles? Still, it wouldn’t be enough to save this sinking ship, which is also weighted down by Anne Nitikin’s syrupy score and Susan Scott’s odd costume choices. The story is set in the early 1970s, so why does Byrne’s failed poet/schoolteacher, Muiris, look like he walked in off the set of “David Copperfield”? And don’t get me started on how weird Brosnan looks in his eccentric artist attire.
The only actor to emerge unscathed is Bonham Carter, who is terrific as Isabel’s feisty Mam, Margaret. She has all the best lines and delivers them with a conviction far beyond what this lackluster film deserves. You’re thankful she’s here. Without her and the gorgeous cinematography by Damien Elliot, we’d likely succumb to the sugar rush. Still, they can’t prevent us from writing off the inane “Letters,” and laughable lines as fatuous as “It felt like falling from the edge of a cliff, and you were plunged into the first moment of your own story.”
It plunges, all right, straight off the highlands and into the abyss where pretentious movies like this gooey confection deserve to disappear.
Movie review
Four Letters of Love
Rated: Not rated
Cast: Pierce Brosnan, Gabriel Byrne, Helena Bonham Carter, Fionn O’Shea, Ann Skelly and Dónal Finn
Director: Polly Steele
Writer: Niall Williams
Runtime: 109 minutes
Where: In theaters July 25 (limited)
Grade: C-
