I can kind-of, sort-of see how this story might work as a novel. Bad dialogue doesn't sound as howlingly awful when not spoken aloud. Idiotic plot contrivances don't seem as painful and obvious. A love affair depends only on the spell woven by the author's words and isn't subject to the whims of flat performances, lifeless direction, and a script that rushes through key moments. Not having read the book, I can't say anything for certain about the magic (or lack thereof) of what Nicholas Sparks wrought with Nights in Rodanthe. About the movie, however, I can comment, and what ends up on screen is nothing short of a travesty.
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