Remember Me

Remember Me is a film about the lack of faith. Not between the two star-crossed lovers, who generate some degree of sexual chemistry in spite of being straight out of a teenage romantic fantasy; nor between the members of the dysfunctional families who are struggling with grief. The writer and director, on the other hand, lack any sort of faith in the strength of their plot, and end the film with a random twist that pretends to give the film context and scale, but has rightly been condemned by nearly every reviewer.

The casting of Robert Pattinson is the clue that reveals the cynicism behind the production. Completely bankable on the back of Twilight, Pattinson is given the chance to pout, quote pretentious meditations and mourn both a dead brother and distant father; his beloved, played by Emilie De Ravin with enough verve to escape the script’s lazy characterisation, has her own issues and the moody couple soon leap into bed and love. The first hour is a slow moving montage of Pattinson acting the rebellious youth, rejecting his heritage and intellect. As the relationship warms up, he begins to come to terms with his isolation, partially through supporting his beloved.

Remember Me is quick to show its learning: a class-room scene has a brief argument about the difference between morality and ethics; Pattinson quotes Gandhi. Yet there is a lack of substance to the big themes: the Hollywood stereotype of grief leading to alcoholism is paraded, and we are assured of Pattinson’s ultimate virtue by his attention to a younger sister. And while the finale is supposed to put the romance into contemporary politics, it is so unexpected and clumsy that it destroys any lingering sympathy for the characters.

Equally, the film fails to convince that Pattinson is essentially decent. His initial attitude to sex and love is cynical, regardless of the sudden passion that overwhelms him. His flatmate is a badly drawn foil who is obnoxious, and Pattinson’s Tyler is loutish. Other family members are amalgamations of film clichés, from a borderline autistic sister to the distant father. By setting the romance against a shallow backdrop, even the few moments of tension are unbelievable.

At its best, cinema can short-cut the complexity of emotions and provide a symbolic framework for mundane experience, explaining and glorifying the struggles and triumphs of daily life. Remember Me does the opposite, turning love into empty sex – however beautifully it is written – and asking the two leads to convince the audience of emotions that are not rooted in any characterisation. There is a harsh nihilism that runs through the minor parts: all fathers are emotionally stunted, women are generally compassionate but weak, and the hero is allowed to stamp all over convention for no better reason that to prove his angst. The film desperately wants to be emotive and important; but it has all the depth of an unpolished teenage journal, without any of the sincerity or charm.

Gareth Vile



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