Hoping for a sweeping saga on love's ability to transcend dimensions a la "Ghost" or "The Lake House," "The Time Traveler's Wife," Robert Schwentke's melodrama achieves neither the grandness it aspires for nor (at least) a constant sense of giddiness for its leads Eric Bana and Rachel McAdams. Strange actually, as whereas Bana plays a man who constantly finds himself involuntarily traveling through time, Schwentke's soppy romance -- as with its leading man -- remains flat and inert.
At the age of six, Henry (Bana) first finds about his condition during a car accident that killed his mom, which becomes a regular tendency leading to his first meeting with Clare, she still being a six-year old child and he a young adult. Such regular visits lead to a romance and, eventually, marriage, as Schwentke's adaptation Audrey Niffenegger's bestselling novel charts the complications of the couple's relationships regarding Henry's curious condition, though its decision to never bother to explore its cause or nature except for cursory prattle on genetics lead to an unconvincing fantasy-cum-love story that partly keeps one from being fully absorbed.
Yet far more deflating the script's purpose of emotional investment is the lack of distinct personality for its characters, a deficiency which Bana and McAdams try so hard to make up for with their attractiveness and chemistry, but unfortunately proves too considerable to overcome: Henry never comes off more than a vanilla leading man and Clare a callow wife. Schwentke eventually relies on laying the dramatics on the thick with golden hour cinematography, syrupy lines and overdone score; though it's a prefabricated ploy designed to maximize sentimentality but which doesn't propel an otherwise novel idea to motion.
At the age of six, Henry (Bana) first finds about his condition during a car accident that killed his mom, which becomes a regular tendency leading to his first meeting with Clare, she still being a six-year old child and he a young adult. Such regular visits lead to a romance and, eventually, marriage, as Schwentke's adaptation Audrey Niffenegger's bestselling novel charts the complications of the couple's relationships regarding Henry's curious condition, though its decision to never bother to explore its cause or nature except for cursory prattle on genetics lead to an unconvincing fantasy-cum-love story that partly keeps one from being fully absorbed.
Yet far more deflating the script's purpose of emotional investment is the lack of distinct personality for its characters, a deficiency which Bana and McAdams try so hard to make up for with their attractiveness and chemistry, but unfortunately proves too considerable to overcome: Henry never comes off more than a vanilla leading man and Clare a callow wife. Schwentke eventually relies on laying the dramatics on the thick with golden hour cinematography, syrupy lines and overdone score; though it's a prefabricated ploy designed to maximize sentimentality but which doesn't propel an otherwise novel idea to motion.