Dear John
“I am a coin in the United States Army,” says Staff Sergeant John Tyree (Channing Tatum, emotionless as ever), a soldier in the U.S. Army 1st Special Forces. It’s a puzzling metaphor, even after the film develops it. Not that it doesn’t say something about Tyree, but it doesn’t really parallel the Army. In fact, the film doesn’t really settle on what it’s about. More on that later.
Tyree meets Savannah Curtis (Amanda Seyfried, whose talents are vastly underemployed here), while surfing the beach near Charleston, South Carolina. She’s a sweet, young girl with an honest interest in people. She meets his father, with whom he’s had a strained relationship since his adolescence. Within the span of two weeks, they attend family functions together, eat dad’s lasagna, and nearly get kicked out of beachside establishments on account of John’s reputation, the history of which isn’t explored at all… oh, and they fall in love. Just like that.
The film explores the developing relationship between John and Savannah before he’s sent off for a 12 month tour of duty, but this acts as a diversion from the intended theme of responsibility and obligation and the real theme of relentless, pointless tragedy—borrowing more from Book of Job than the Nicholas Sparks novel from which the screenplay was adapted. The filmmaker seems to want to establish an arc from the absence of John’s mother, its impact on him and Mr. Tyree (Richard Jenkins), to John’s realization that his father is all he has. It could have smartly ended on that note. However, director Lasse Hallström, narrowly avoiding some clichés, works well beneath his own ability as a storyteller by plunging into a conclusion that cheapens the entire narrative.
The film opens with a letter reflecting upon the last thing that enters John’s mind before he’s shot twice in combat in Iraq. John remembers being eight years old when he became fascinated with coin collecting. This sparked a common passion between him and his father. Many films that begin this way, in a traumatic climax, lapse into American Beauty Syndrome—telling the story from a dead man’s point of view. Mr. Hallström avoids this and other Hollywood staples, however, and delivers some genuinely interesting characters, including Tim (Henry Thomas, barely recognizable as the former child star of E.T.: The Extra Terrestrial) whose son Alan (Braeden Reed and Luke Benward), we learn, has autism.
Owing to her experience looking after Alan, Savannah suspects that Mr. Tyree may have a mild form of autism—probably Asperger’s though it’s never expressly stated—as he lacks empathy, is frightened by social interaction and obsesses over routines, compulsively baking a pan or two of lasagna every Sunday night—guests or not. Mr. Jenkins performs this role beautifully, especially during a nervous breakdown in a scene where he attempts his best to take a car ride with the two to Savannah’s graduation party. Spending the majority of the film in a nearly-catatonic state, Mr. Jenkins demonstrates a greater range of emotion than Mr. Tatum, who gives Keanu Reeves serious competition—defining numerous shades of blank of which I had been thus far unaware. Even his anger is undefined, as in a scene where Savannah’s cocky friend, Randy (Scott Porter), provokes him to the point of physical violence. I’ve never seen outbursts of languid rage before.
Therein lies the problem. Peripheral characters seem fleshed out, but serve limited roles as mechanisms in a grand manipulation of the audience’s emotion which brings us squarely back to the two principals, John and Savannah—as interesting as cardboard. Mr. Tatum’s characterization of John seems to confuse vacuous expression for stoicism. Amanda Seyfried’s previous roles as Needy Lesnicki in the otherwise abysmal Jennifer’s Body and Karen Smith in the clever Mean Girls betray glimpses of acting potential greater than the surface of her roles suggest. But let me pose this question: Other than being a device in an emotionally manipulative plot, and being generally thoughtful, optimistic, and keenly interested in Mr. Tyree’s numismatic preoccupation—generic qualities describing every young movie daughter interested in a man’s son—how else can we describe Savannah? What do we learn about her that makes her more than a love interest? If her purpose is solely to help move the story toward its cathartic twist, why not simply jettison her so SSgt. Tyree can learn the harsh reality of newly formed, long-distance relationships that so many active duty men discover while deployed thousands of miles away? If the father’s role in his son’s life had been explored a little further, to give it more heft, then such a move might be forgivable. Instead, we get a ludicrous development in the third act.
Read no further if you want to avoid plot spoilers. I cannot avoid discussing certain story developments to establish why an otherwise interesting subject tumbles almost inexplicably into an abyss of stupidity, given the film’s initial ambitions and its qualified director. The script may be one issue, written by the relatively untested Jamie Linden whose sole prior credit is for We Are Marshall. The film throws in everything, including the kitchen sink.
As the title of movie glaringly infers, toward the end of his tour John gets dumped after his Special Forces team pressures him into re-enlistment following the World Trade Center attacks, leading into a middle act that feels too much like an Army recruitment advertisement. All the civilians are caricatures, including Savannah’s wealthy, socialite mother and cigar-chomping father. Every single military enlisted man or officer is absolutely noble, dutiful and G-rated.
The man Savannah marries isn’t the cartoony loiterer Randy, which is a temporary relief—inconceivable that Savannah would ever choose such a dolt. It’s the amiable father, Tim, the kind of guy who gets walked on and takes it in stride. You almost feel that his child was written as autistic just to add to the cavalcade of adversity, the undeniable hardship of which is never endured by any of the film’s characters. Imagine my disbelief when Tim was stricken with cancer. Thank goodness he’s always upbeat, eh? Again, this is utterly contrived, and you know precisely where it leads. The instant John, back into Savannah’s life only after his father’s death, is told in passing that Tim could have an experimental treatment, your head will collapse like a neutron star under the weight of the foreshadowing. Is anyone in this film motivated by anything other than convenience or desperation?
Dear John • Dolby® Digital surround sound in select theatres • Aspect Ratio: 2.39:1 • Running Time: 105 minutes • MPAA Rating: PG-13 for some sensuality and violence. • Distributed by Sony Pictures Releasing