‘Four Letters of Love’ Delivers a Long, Damp Script to Nowhere

In a wasteful summer of castoff sci-fi epics, stupid comedies and idiotic horror films, I actually had some hope for a love story from Ireland with a superb cast, but Four Letters of Love is a dismal misfire that struggles to keep its audience awake through nearly two hours of titanic tedium. The meandering screenplay adapted by Niall Williams from his own novel, which has been described as a best-seller—although I can’t figure out why—is about two young people searching for identity in the name of love, told in parallel stories of unfathomable melodrama. The director is Polly Steele, a lady with an unquenchable passion for long, lingering shots of wet beaches and dry emotions.

Nicholas Coughlan, played by newcomer Fionn O’Shea, is the son of a bored, wasted civil servant in Dublin, played by hopelessly miscast Pierce Brosnan. Every day, he witnesses his father’s misery while his mother lies in her bed, slowly dying for undisclosed reasons. One day, Dad is suddenly hit by a ray of light accompanied by the voice of God, instructing him to change his life and become a painter. Mr. Coughlan obeys, abandons his job, leaves his family bereft and penniless, and heads for a remote island off the coast of western Ireland where he devotes his life to scribbling ugly, vile and worthless paintings nobody ever buys. His wife, muddled, depressed and cynical, promptly drops dead. Nicholas runs away from home, joins his father on the island, and settles in for a life of despair, denying the existence of God.

The island is the home of another family of misfortune, the Gores. The Gores are kinder than the Coughlans but equally clueless as parents. Mother Margaret Gore (Helena Bonham Carter) bakes cookies while irresponsible father Muiris Gore (Gabriel Byrne) ignores his family’s needs and nonexistent income and spends his time writing. Their daughter Isabel (Ann Skelly) worships her handsome brother Sean (Dónal Finn), but he has a mysterious stroke playing his penny whistle while she dances recklessly on the edge of a cliff, and he ends up paralyzed in a wheelchair while Isabel is sent away to a convent, and Isabel and Nicholas….well, it goes on and on but enough is enough.  

Oh, yes. Isabel and Nicholas finally fall in love after the love letters in the title drag their way to a small part at the end of the plot, but it’s a gimmick too contrived to waste time explaining now. The point of so much turgid melodrama, I guess, is that when older people live the wrong life, they can still inspire children from the same empty, hopeless backgrounds to reach for a higher level of achievement with patience and understanding. Yawn. The actors are fine, but the roles they are forced to play are so deadly they might as well have stayed home reading screenplays for better films. There isn’t a line of dialogue worth repeating and, like goat stew, a little of Four Letters of Love goes a long way.