O'Donnell Too Small for Hemingway's Shoes

While several conflicting theories may exist about the relative importance of this or that long-term cause of World War I, historians are fairly well-agreed that Chris O'Donnell is not Ernest Hemingway. "In Love and War" has arrived, for better or worse, as an acceptable romance story, set against a beautifully done backdrop of a world war. But notably absent from this picture is any bona fide sense of Hemingway, as O'Donnell and Sandra Bullock with somewhat disturbing success dilute and plain-vanilla the story into submission.

Drawing upon a collection of correspondence put together a few years ago, "In Love and War" follows the story of the romance between the young Ernest Hemingway (Chris O'Donnell) and a nurse, Agnes von Kurowsky (Sandra Bullock). With the usual bravado, Hemingway is fulfilling his duties as an ambulance driver in Italy during World War I, but is shot while trying to save a wounded soldier. Once he's laid up in a hospital, there's nothing left for him to do, really, but fall in love with his nurse.

Since the stumbling block to appreciating this film is perhaps all too clear, a review of the film's finer qualities is perhaps in order: the war stuff. If nothing else, director Richard Attenborough has captured the spirit of grand old heroism through images of wartime Italy. The screen fills now with ranks charging across the fetid trenches, now with peaceful shots of classical architecture, eloquently summing up the destruction of innocence by the ravages of war.

Then a singularly odd thing happens: some guy appears on screen claiming to be Ernest Hemingway, and, before long -- look! -- there's a nurse, too, heaving and healing.

Needless to say, O'Donnell has difficulties mustering up quite enough sensitivity for Hemingway's character to portray him with any likeness at all. Gone is the rough-edged impetuousness that's best absorbed by reading his works.

Instead, O'Donnell walks about with a certain forced clunkiness, yet otherwise leaving one seriously wondering whether this is supposed to be the same man who wrote "A Farewell to Arms."

While perhaps less guilty -- though still technically breathing during the film and therefore also responsible for its quality -- Bullock has her own contributions to make. Well-trained in the appealing art of having things happen around her and perhaps offering a push now and then, Bullock tries to allow her inherent warmth to shine through and guide her way as she has before in many a standard Hollywood-movie movie before.

Unfortunately, when both actors apply their abilities to Hemingway's story, the result is simple and uninteresting. What before was an intriguing story -- offering all manner of comparison-comments between Hemingway's life and what he portrayed in his writings -- now disappears in the melting goo of a basically standard wartime romance with two people no more glamorized than any other movie stars.

Adventure breathes throughout Hemingway's story: there's no doubt about this. The running to the front to save the soldier, the near loss of a leg -- this is all great stuff. But the fatal choice of two decidedly flat mainstream stars somehow reflects the movie's mindset that the story of Hemingway and a general idea of Hemingway's own character and conflicts with his nurse are enough, when what we really want to see is Hemingway, no-holds-barred, as close as they can get.

The scenery's there, but the right people are missing: plastering a star's face on someone who is star enough misses the point.

In a movie that would seem so reliant on personalities, then, the performances appear more standard than otherwise. We know what Hemingway was like, so we're looking for someone to make the familiar seem strange, rather than merely to rehash the story for us.

With so much effort obviously spent upon the film, it's a pity more care couldn't have been taken with casting, especially the leads. In the end, Attenborough's film acts more as a landscape than as a good portrait.