A man obsesses/loves a woman over the course of fifty-three years.In this adaptation of Gabriel Garcia Marquez's lush novel, I could easily tell the sections of dialogue/narration that were taken from his book. In these sections, the language was so rich that I couldn't help but be sucked into the world Marquez
created. And in this world the obsession that wracks Florentino makes sense; it almost seems reasonable to equate obsession with love. However, the film's principal flaw is its unevenness - the disconnect between the banality of the situations, cinematography, and acting and the elevation of the main conflict. By the end of the film, it was almost as though I was reading a great book that was getting interrupted by a bad imitation of the book.Also, I wondered throughout most of the film how we're meant to feel about Florentino. Is he elevated as a hero, or should we pity him? The story's conclusion and the fact that he is rewarded with sex with over 600 women while he waits for the object of his obsession makes me lean toward the former option, but what does this say about love? Is love really obsession? Should we really consider such impracticality admirable? In real life, wouldn't Florentino's behavior be tantamount to stalking? The only moment when Florentino is put up for ridicule and question involves him writing a bill of lading as a love poem, and this scene is welcome in the film's larger context. Yet it also contributes to the unevenness of the film because the ridicule is almost immediately abandoned.Overall, I really wanted to like Love in the Time of Cholera, but the film lacks the singular purpose and consistency of it hero.
April 17, 2011
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