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Bland and sentimental, The Notebook is old-fashioned filmmaking aimed at an old-fashioned audience. Kleenex essential.

The connection between the two narratives is supposed to be a big, heartbreaking surprise, though I figured it out well in advance and spent the interim unfavorably comparing this greatest-generation hanky wringer to the British drama Iris.

The town (comprising one house, a burger joint and no citizen who isn't a teenager or a cop) is overseen by Sheriff Randy Quaid, who displays all the reverence the script deserves.

Mr. Cassavetes is effectively black-hearted, and makes a striking figure, and Randy Quaid does a lot with the underdeveloped role of a local sheriff.

You know you're in trouble the second you take a look at Bruce Willis's fake liver spots.

Overall though, it's a messy, superficial affair: it lacks focus, shifts uneasily in tone, and shoehorns in star names (Sharon Stone, Bruce Willis) to little effect.

A polemic in search of a plot.

Doesn't so much need a heart as a brain transplant.

Based on Cassavetes pere script, this Cassavetes fils meditation on love and madness is a truly curioisity item, lacking the master's profound ideas and rich subtext; 20 years ago, it would have starred Gena Rowlands, Ben Gazzara and Peter Falk.