The best thing about The Longest Ride, the latest film adaptation of a Nicholas Sparks tear-jerker novel, is the bullriding. The slow-motion shots, with the animal’s legs kicking and snot slinging into the air, capture the ride as an act of grace. An entire documentary focused on the sport could be carried by the power and beauty of such images. The same, however, can’t be said for “The Longest Ride,” which tries to mash two quite different loves stories together and ends up a messy, pointless excuse to see a glimpse of Scott Eastwood’s ass.
Allow me to pretend to be the first to say, “Finally!” The endless Oscar season is over and now we can all turn our eyes back on the object the highly distracting awards were supposedly engineered to highlight.
The press tour for Safe Haven marked the second time I was in the same room as author Nicholas Sparks, and if I’m to be completely honest, I asked him the one burning question I had for him the last time around.
“Men must come up to you all the time and say, ‘You’re making my job so much more difficult.'” That was the charge I leveled at spectacularly successful romance novelist Nicholas Sparks when the author came to the Twin Cities a few weeks ago to promote The Lucky One.