Losing heart

There has been such a lot of fuss and hype around this adaptation of the Ian McEwan novel — as if this is all anybody has ever been waiting for — that I did wonder if I had anything new or useful to say. But then I realised: 1) it’s never stopped me before and 2) it’s never stopped me before and 3) it’s never stopped me before. So, in short, if it’s never stopped me before, why stop now? Shall we proceed, now we’ve decided we are not stopping? Good.

What I am saying, I think, is that you will probably have a sense of Atonement already, considering it’s already been hailed as ‘an English Patient for the noughties’ and a ‘masterpiece’ and has been tipped for more awards than possibly even exist. And? It is an elegant and sophisticated film, one that never condescends or shirks from the complexity of the novel and its grand themes — war, love, sex, memory, betrayal, redemption — but it’s also strangely unfeeling. I just didn’t feel it. Perhaps you could say the same of the book; admirable, technically brilliant, but did it get you in the guts? That said, though, there is much to appreciate and carry you along here, including a typewriter soundtrack that’s as dark and threatening as the Jaws theme, as well as that famous plot twist based on an intercepted letter containing ‘The C-Word’. The C-word? Oh, come on. We’re all grown-ups. Every lady in the land has one, even the Queen and Joan Collins, and they wouldn’t if it was dirty. Say it and say it loud until your children ask, in which case it’s best to say it’s a type of German cake. ‘Mummy, what is it?’ ‘It’s a type of German cake, dear, but you must never, ever ask for it outside Germany.’