As directed by New Line founder Robert Shaye, BOOK OF LOVE is a slight, nostalgic comedy which seems to recede from memory even as it's being watched.
Set less in the actual 50s than a TV compilation of that era, the story follows a bland protagonist named Jack Twiller (Chris Young). After a brief framing device of the adult Jack (Michael McKean), rich and disillusioned, in his black-matted 90s condo the film jumps back to the innocence of his
youth. There we watch the young Jack moving into a new neighborhood. Immediately, as if by scent, the town bullies show up and terrorize poor Jack. The bullies are led by local tough Angelo Gabooch (Beau Dremann). Jack quickly forms a motley group of buddies that includes the dopey Crutch Krane
(Keith Coogan) and the ribald Spider Bomboni (Danny Nucci). Jack's problems are compounded when he falls for both the town beauty Lily (Josie Bissett) and Gabooch's sister Gina (Tricia Leigh Fisher).
There's not much more of a story. BOOK OF LOVE is constructed of reminiscences that are often more insipid than charming. And the parts that the plot hinges on, like the relationship between Jack and Gina Gabooch, are never developed. The movie feels as if big explanatory chunks of it were
missing and all that is left are the cute little wisecracks.
The casting is a disaster. Chris Young has one of those scrubbed-clean faces that are only suited for selling product. And in a screenplay that calls for ethnic humor, almost none of the Italian characters are essayed by Italian-American actors. The rhythm and tone of the humor is swallowed by
blandness. The director, Robert Shaye, seems mortally afraid of offending anyone. The only actor who hits the right tone of satirical ethnicity is Danny Nucci. With come-ons like "Gimme a buck and I'll let you watch my sister take a bath," he would have made a welcome protagonist.
A smattering of what must have distinguished the original novel by William Kotzwinkle appears here and there, such as the sudden appearances of 50s advertising figures like Charles Atlas and a pin-up girl. Kotzwinkle seems to have been writing about the lunacy of growing up among pop concepts.
But this little bit of mannerism isn't really embraced by the director, who seems to be much more interested in keeping a chirpy and unoffensive surface to the whole proceedings. Ultimately, BOOK OF LOVE is neither truly funny, nor surreal, nor acerbic. It isn't even successfully bland.
