The notebook, a name so succinct and mundane you’d be forgiven for casting it aside as a film about a book of notes, and whilst that’s essentially what it is, a more befitting name could have been used. What if the notes consisted of nothing more than a shopping list, or a teenager procrastinating in school. Perhaps they drew a willy; That wouldn’t be a film, would it?
The film is not one I’d normally watch, but I put it on in the background and slowly – but surely – started getting into the story, and once I’ve done that, well, I can never stop watching. T’wud normally be a man’s secret weapon if English charm fails, as I think women are infatuated by the story, and by transfer of property, the closest person next to them.
So I have watched it once before, but I was watching the girl I was with rather than the film itself, and when that’s done, you just catch glimpses of the story. So I thought ‘why is this girl crying, this film is essentially about a vintage floozy committing adultery, the swine!’ And so the most prominent feeling I perceived during that period was not one of heartfelt emotion, but a cramp in my leg.
And yet it turns out the feelings expressed linguistically in that film are so semantically beautiful, so heartfelt and sincere, that it holds sentiment; but even sentimentality itself has been dubbed ‘the unearned emotion’.
I think love is transcendental, or perhaps metaphysical, something we’re meant to spend our life searching for, never to discover. The pro-verbal lapis philosophorum to a naive alchemist.
So I still don’t think that film has the right to be so tear inducing, the only person that dies is old, it was bound to happen soon.
But that film, it almost makes you want to fall in love. Almost.


