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I could have sworn I wrote this review last month. Oh wait, I did! Yeah, now I remember. Back then it was called Dear John. What happened? Did I fall into some space-time worm hole? Maybe I actually traveled through time when I went to see Hot Tub Time Machine? No matter. Here I am again, reviewing The Last Song.
Here's what you need to know: It's a Nicholas Sparks movie, so there's going to be a guy and girl from opposite sides of the tracks, they're going to get together, things look like they're going to work out, and BAM, someone gets sick and dies. What's different about this one? MILEY! Yep, Ms. Cyrus brings her "acting abilities" to this film. Listen, I know she's getting older, and she's making a grab at a legitimate acting career, but here's the problem. These movies are schmaltz, and you've got to be a pretty good actor to elevate the material to something more than the sap that it is. Cyrus isn't that actress. She has all the emotional range of, well, a normal teenager (meaning overly happy or overly angry and not much in between). It makes the already overly dramatic film even more so, and felt like I was spending an hour and 45 minutes listening to my younger sister complain about stuff I didn't care about.
I will repeat the end of my Dear John review here, as it is just as appropriate: "Nicholas Sparks' adaptations are the film equivalent of Mad Libs. The framework of the story is the same as everything that came before it. Just change the names and diseases, and you have an instant tear jerker. But just because something works once doesn't mean you should repeat it." Unless it's a review of a Nicholas Spark's movie, which you can repeat over and over. Hey, if it's good enough for him...