Message in a Bottle. What can I say. Perhaps the least original remark is that viewing this 1999 movie is two hours and six minutes of my life I will never get back. Though every second of screen time devoted to Paul Newman and Illeana Douglas almost makes it worth the painfully trite and miserable ending that didn't have to go that way!
Jesussufferingfuckshitballssonofabitchmotherfucker!
What is the point of bringing two lonely people together using a preposterous (but totally romantic) plot device when you're just going to wring every treacly teardrop of sentimental claptrap out of missed opportunities and shitty timing? When the credits at last began to run I understood everything. Nicholas Sparks. The man responsible for the novel this movie is based on. Wait, it seems he is half responsible for the screenplay as well. I think it's best I avoid any of his work for the rest of my life. All I have to say is, a way better movie could have been made using the Police's 1979 hit song of the same name as source material. It has a far superior ending. And a better beat. You could dance to it. Pardon me while I head to the kitchen. I need a bucket of lemon sorbet to cleanse my palate of this pointless movie.
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