Staggering under the burden of noble intentions and a grant-funded charge to edify,
this Anne Frank-inspired story of shattered innocence is artistically handicapped
from the word go. The subject matter -- a tender-hearted Jewish teenager's first encounter
with anti-Semitism -- packs an inherent emotional punch. Unfortunately, screenwriter
Wendy Kesselman, on whose Ford Foundation-commissioned play this film is based, appears
to have suffered from serious performance anxiety, troweling on enough leaden symbolism
and gratuitous schmaltz to seriously undermine the tale's potential impact. Her protagonist
is Daisy (Danes), a shy, bookish Manhattan prep school student whose emotional fragility
makes her a literal and figurative equivalent of the flowers she picks with her widowed
aunt Nana (Moreau), a survivor of the Auschwitz death camp. Even among her oddly
anachronistic classmates (Kesselman seems to utterly lack any feel for modern youth
culture, giving her teenagers the speech and demeanor of characters from an old Dobie
Gillis episode), Daisy is a hopeless naïf. So when the gentile Adonis (Law)
with whom she's enamored cools the romance after discovering she's Jewish, the effect
is as brutal as a jackboot trampling a tender wildflower. And Hopkins and Kesselman
play it just that melodramatically, using Nana's Anne Frank-like recollections and
stock footage of WWII death camps to draw a specious comparison between the blond
shitheel's snub and the Nazis' genocidal atrocities. Leaving aside the implausibility
of Judaism being viewed as an exotic, inscrutable phenomenon in the heart of New
York City, there really isn't much verisimilitude in the bald prejudice Daisy encounters.
The very essence of bigotry's enduring power is its virus-like ability to mutate
into subtler, more specialized forms as changing social conditions demand. However,
the filmmakers' failure to acknowledge this fact is less ruinous than their maudlin
representation of their characters' emotional lives. The relationship of Nana and
Daisy is so infantile in its nature (every scene of gut-spilling angst seems to be
followed by a ridiculous, cringe inducing one of the pair pillow fighting, playing
Crazy Eights, or picking flowers in long, flowing dresses) that any revelations emerging
from it are unavoidably trivialized. The superabundance of talent here makes I Love
You, I Love You Not's affectlessness all the more mystifying. Kesselman, remember,
wrote the script for Nancy Meckler's provocative, deliciously kinky Sister, My Sister.
Danes can be a deeply affecting screen presence -- see William Shakespeare's Romeo
& Juliet for recent proof. And, of course, the ability of the great Moreau (Jules
and Jim, The Lovers) to illuminate emotionally charged material is beyond question.
So the blame for I Love You, I Love You Not's maudlin, simplistic feel has to fall
upon Kesselman and Hopkins, who for whatever reasons were unable to tap the deep
artery of human truth flowing beneath their story's skin. It wouldn't be the first
time that efforts to starkly define good and evil failed because neither is really
all that easy to define in all their multidimensional complexity.
1.5 stars
Claire Danes and Jeanne Moreau star in I Love You, I Love You Not
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--Russell Smith
Full Length Reviews
I Love You, I Love You Not 
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