Me Before You

When Ken emailed me to tell me I’d be watching Thea Sharrock’s Me Before You, he took a moment to compare its potential to that of a Nicholas Sparks film with Brit accents. Since I’ve seen approximately an infinite amount of Nicholas Sparks adaptations (since it’s likely they’ll never stop, this is metaphysically true) and disliked all of them on some level, this is obviously not what one would call an endorsement. This did have a welcome effect, however, since my hopes and expectations were sufficiently lowered to the point where I wasn’t miserable watching Me Before You.

Being better than a Nicholas Sparks adaptation is no great achievement, of course. While the dearth of aw-shucks wholesomeness and North Carolina beaches are removed, the film — based on Jojo Moyes’ novel, which she also adapted for the screen — is not afraid of the treacly romantics itself. What makes it work are likable (though, I fear, forgettable) leads and an amount of ethical and emotional complexity. This does not, unfortunately, mean that the movie isn’t overlong and solely concerned with making the audience reach for its tissues in the most manipulative of ways. The small amount of things that the film gets right are always quickly swept under a rug woven of tragic romance clichés.

The Hunger Games franchise’s Sam Claflin plays Will, an affluent man (his family is disgustingly rich) who’s recently become a quadriplegic, a state that leaves him unable to live the life he wants and wanting to end it all via assisted suicide. As he gets closer and closer to ending his life, Lou (Emilia Clarke, TV’s Game of Thrones) — an awkward, sheltered, yet eager caregiver — enters his life. Since the two are polar opposites in numerous ways, romance, of course (by the laws of Romance 101), blossoms. But in its defense, Me Before You is exactly the kind of movie it wants to be and never shies away from its DNA as schmaltzy tripe.

As one would expect from this type of film, Lou gradually draws the sullen Will out of his depression and hopelessness, and the two learn about life and love and so on and so forth. None of this is particularly surprising or interesting. First-time director Thea Sharrock (whose previous career was in the theater) is professional and uninteresting, filming everything with an amount of unfortunate inertness. What saves things — to a small extent at least — is that the film goes for an ending that doesn’t quite tie up happily ever after. Will’s wish for ending his life on his own terms adds weight to a movie in dire need of it, while also managing to challenge the genre’s ideas that love can solve all problems.

Disappointingly, the ideas are played up for maximum bare-faced manipulation, while the film’s coda is an awkward and somewhat cynical attempt (at least if you don’t personally find wealth on equal footing with genuine happiness) at a feel-good ending. While Clarke and Claflin aren’t some great romantic duo, they have a modicum of charm and chemistry, enough, at least, to make the emotional resonance almost resonate. Faint praise, I know, but they at least make the thing mostly watchable, if you can stomach the saccharine slant and find the idea of “at least it’s not Nicholas Sparks” enough of a reason to watch a movie. Rated PG-13 for thematic elements and some suggestive material.

Playing at Carolina Cinemark, Regal Biltmore Grande, UA Beaucatcher.