I have one name for you: Nicholas Sparks. Depending on who you are and whether you have immediate access to a restroom, you may, like my brother, wish to throw up immediately. Nicholas Sparks ... Some names can kill.
For a full decade, Sparks' novels have been the lifeline of American love stories ("The Notebook," "Message in a Bottle," "A Walk to Remember"), and for those with a preference for cheese and unrequited love, Sparks adaptations can often be deeply satisfying. On the other hand, it's a good thing they only come around every other year or so. Otherwise, all that cheese would mean way too many calories.
And now it's that time again. "Dear John" — adapted from a Sparks novel and directed by Lasse Hallstrom ("What's Eating Gilbert Grape," "Cider House Rules") — is everything we've come to expect from a Sparks story and, what's worse, a whole lot more. More goo and sap, resulting in a kind of chaotic pizza-pie disorder. As for the love stuff, there's plenty of that, too. In fact, there seems to be too much of everything, and Hallstrom has his hands full jam-packing the whole lot into a tight 100-odd minutes. Fortunately, he's one of Hollywood's most capable and cooperative artisans: two traits that endow the story with generous benefits.