like a film version of the stage favorite "Love Letters," with Reeves and Bullock narrating their own letters, moving through the same geography, living exactly two years apart. The dramatic tension

like a film version of the stage favorite "Love Letters," with Reeves and Bullock narrating their own letters, moving through the same geography, living exactly two years apart. The dramatic tension comes from the clues each gives the other about their connection, the ways they might overcome the barrier between them.
The ending is given away fairly early. Auburn was plainly reaching for "Sleepless in Seattle." Characters watch Hitchcock's romantic thriller "Notorious," which has no parallels to the current film. Auburn also includes Jane Austen's "Persuasion," another tale of patience and longing, as a plot device.
It breaks its own rules, at times. But darned if this doesn't work, at least some of the time. And darned if the payoff isn't downright romantic.
"Can this be happening?" he wonders.
"Why not?" she shoots back.
Believable and bumbling
Blame it on simple nostalgia. "The Lake House" takes Bullock, and us, back to her winsome "While You Were Sleeping" days, when she was America's sweetheart. Nobody could seem more lovelorn, or more desirable, than Bullock back in 1995 (a year after "Speed"). She's gone back to that melancholy well many times since, and hasn't developed more range in the intervening years. But her loneliness here is sweet and believable.
Reeves is just as far over 40, and just as much a trial as an actor, as he's ever been. He can play a professional man, argue with grownup character actors around him (Christopher Plummer is the famous and aloof architect-father). But Reeves still stumbles, still lets us see the inner "Duuuuude" struggling to get out. More than 100 year ago, one of the first things filmed for motion pictures was a sneeze. Check out Reeves' efforts to fake one here and be amazed that the man ever became the biggest movie star in the world.
Argentine director Alejandro Agresti ("Valentin") barely manages this tightrope walk between pure schmaltz ("Somewhere in Time") and magical realism ("Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind"). Overly appropriate tunes ("It's Too Late Baby") underscore scenes where you know not only what's going to happen, but exactly what characters will say.
Still, "The Notebook" wasn't anybody's idea of high art either. And the paucity of decent romantic date movies shows up in every Monday's struggling box-office score.
So take us back, Sandy and Keanu. It doesn't quite work, but it fails with warmth. And it makes one wonder.
Will anybody be nostalgic for Vin and Jen 10 years from now?