Only an original or neatnik knock-off Nicholas Sparks could tempt us into the theaters wooing us like a candyman into the heart of chick flick central. Does it end well? No. Is it well acted? Not really. Does Channing Tatum take his shirt off? Yes. Yes he does.
So we drive shamelessly to theaters to tempt and tantalize and torment ourselves with lies that one completely selfless, artistic, immutable, soft-spoken, generous, heterosexual, charming, chivalrous, chiseled, constant, all-loving, perfect man exists for each of us off-screen.
Splatter: on FILM 