Manipulative, contrived, melodramatic – all labels we slap on that most perfectly titled movie genre, “the weeper.” All fit “If I Stay” like original packaging.
Teenage girls and the boys who want to date them need to discover the pleasures of a well-executed teen weeper for themselves, and this film fills the bill.
Chloë Grace Moretz takes on her first real star-vehicle romance in this adaptation of Gayle Forman’s novel. Moretz is Mia, a Portland, Ore., high school cello prodigy who, 12 minutes into the movie, is in a car crash. Her spirit awakens in the crimson snow to see her broken body hauled off in an ambulance.
As the able doctors operate on her, somebody says, “If she wants to live, she’d better start fighting.” That’s what the movie is about, Mia’s spirit, dashing barefoot through the halls of the hospital, checking on the rest of her injured family and re-living, through flashbacks, the life she might be leaving behind.
We travel back to her meeting Adam (Jamie Blackley), the hunky upperclassman alt rocker who is drawn to her good looks and her utter immersion in her instrument. Worlds collide as the Beethoven-loving cellist struggles to fit in with the Portland’s two-guitar bar-band scene.
In other episodes, we fall in with her still-hip parents. Dad (Joshua Leonard) used to be a punk drummer, and mom (Mireille Enos) was a groupie/riot grrrl. Then they had their second child (Jakob Davies) and gave that up for straight jobs.
“Sometimes you make choices in life,” is Mom’s wise counsel, “and sometimes choices make you.”
Adam is Mia’s first kiss, gives her that first shot of whiskey and is her “first” in that other all-important way. But she could get into Juilliard and that first love could be the one who got away.
Or she could never come out of this coma she’s in, the one we see her in every time we return to the hospital, where Adam is almost the only one NOT allowed to see Mia.
Director R.J. Cutler, a veteran TV producer/director (“Nashville”), keeps the camera in tight on Moretz, and the romance of this sinks or swims on her performance. Her cello playing is impressive (occasionally sped up to reach the proper tempo), her girl-in-love moments awkward, in a kind of studious way.
Sometimes her body language doesn’t match the tone of her voice or the pitch of the scene. Even an actress as skilled as Moretz (“Let Me In,” “Carrie”) seems lost in the boyfriend/girlfriend walking and hugging moments. Where DOES one put one’s other arm?