Even with all “The Longest Ride’s” shots of the eye candy that is Scott Eastwood, Nicholas Sparks’ latest romance to make its tissue-sodden way to the big screen is a wash. A long one.
Montages of walks along the ocean, horseback rides through verdant meadows and Eastwood’s ever-present abs do provide endless pretty pictures. (In the looks department, Eastwood definitely does Daddy Clint proud.) But pretty pictures do not make a movie.
The two-plus hours is mostly marked by an emptiness born of scene after scene designed to blatantly manipulate emotions rather than trigger them.
More disquieting is Sparks' co-opting of the very compelling...