Despite knowing that Jojo Moyes wrote the screenplay—or perhaps because of it—I was disappointed in how much detail was left out of the movie. While I understand the desire to make this adaptation a light-to-medium-weight-hearted, tear-jerking chick flick that appeals to the tissue-bearing masses, by glossing over, condensing and cutting so much of the book’s content, quite a bit was lost in translation.
That said, it still bears the message that death with dignity is an important issue, and will probably also serve as a jumping point for important conversations in personal and public settings.
So basically, my biggest issue is that, despite the adorably awkward genius of Emilia Clarke and the understated brilliance of Sam Clafin, the book was better than the movie.
But isn’t it always?