I suppose liking or appreciating 84 Charing Cross Road comes down to what one goes to movies to see. This is the case with any movie, obviously, but for any number of kids disappointed by reaching into the trick-or-treat bag and coming up with a granola bar, there are some who like the granola. 84 Charing Cross Road is cinematic granola. It's no Indiana Jones or Casablanca, but that's not to say there's no sense of wonder or adventure. To some viewers, a film about the love of reading and relationship through written correspondence has that. It may not sound like it, but consider that you can't make a movie about people writing to each other and liking or disliking books unless it's about the situations they're in as they write each other, what causes them to do so, and how their passion for literature defines their lives.
The characters in this film are indeed human beings, probably more like the people watching it than is the case with most other movies. How implausibly eventful does a person's life have to be without being interesting or emotionally fulfilling? However slight the story arguably is, Anne Bancroft and Anthony Hopkins are nevertheless deeply connected to the people it's about. Emotion and impulse on a salt-of-the-earth human level are the very wheelhouse of Bancroft. Her ability to be emotionally free and available to various nuances of feeling is key to her talent.
There is not one false moment in the whole movie. For the invariably impeccable Sir Anthony Hopkins, he gives his performance the texture of real life with the spontaneity and idiosyncrasy of every one of his transitions, every one of his reactions to every emotional event. And though her role is small, Dame Judi Dench is given the difficult task of being there for many of the emotional events in her husband Hopkins' life, and does it modestly, sparingly, realistically and completely in the daintiest handful of scenes.
I can argue in favor of 84 Charing Cross Road on a logical level, but at the same time, I still can't say there's anything profound for me to grab onto when I watch it, which is what I tend to desire from pared down human stories. The story blossoms into a chronicle of a beautiful little relationship that leaves a lasting imprint on the lives involved, my experience was that what happens is just life. No situation seems challenging enough to be anything more than the natural progression of the contact between two uneventful people. But that can also be considered a credit to the film. It seems designed to be for someone in particular, not everyone. You can maybe argue that if it were for everybody, it would then be for nobody in particular. Because it speaks to the tastes of a select audience who would be moved by this tale, and because it's thoroughly effective on that level of integrity, it's destined to be a cherished little critic-proof installment in their personal home entertainment collections.
The characters in this film are indeed human beings, probably more like the people watching it than is the case with most other movies. How implausibly eventful does a person's life have to be without being interesting or emotionally fulfilling? However slight the story arguably is, Anne Bancroft and Anthony Hopkins are nevertheless deeply connected to the people it's about. Emotion and impulse on a salt-of-the-earth human level are the very wheelhouse of Bancroft. Her ability to be emotionally free and available to various nuances of feeling is key to her talent.
There is not one false moment in the whole movie. For the invariably impeccable Sir Anthony Hopkins, he gives his performance the texture of real life with the spontaneity and idiosyncrasy of every one of his transitions, every one of his reactions to every emotional event. And though her role is small, Dame Judi Dench is given the difficult task of being there for many of the emotional events in her husband Hopkins' life, and does it modestly, sparingly, realistically and completely in the daintiest handful of scenes.
I can argue in favor of 84 Charing Cross Road on a logical level, but at the same time, I still can't say there's anything profound for me to grab onto when I watch it, which is what I tend to desire from pared down human stories. The story blossoms into a chronicle of a beautiful little relationship that leaves a lasting imprint on the lives involved, my experience was that what happens is just life. No situation seems challenging enough to be anything more than the natural progression of the contact between two uneventful people. But that can also be considered a credit to the film. It seems designed to be for someone in particular, not everyone. You can maybe argue that if it were for everybody, it would then be for nobody in particular. Because it speaks to the tastes of a select audience who would be moved by this tale, and because it's thoroughly effective on that level of integrity, it's destined to be a cherished little critic-proof installment in their personal home entertainment collections.