Hollywood has transferred to the big screen a very popular YA novel, The Fault in Our Stars, about teens with cancer (principally two of them—in a romance). Although a strong film in several ways, I found it largely unsatisfying because of the sick boy (Ansel Elgort) who is too well-adjusted to be true (as well as handsome, of course) and the asinine, contemptible writer enacted by William Dafoe. Every time these two elements are thrust before us, the picture struggles to be effectual. It shouldn’t have to.
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