Cast: Pierce Brosnan, Helena Bonham Carter, Gabriel Byrne
Genre: Drama
Director: Polly Steele
In Irish Cinemas: Now
Four Letters of Love, adapted from Niall Williams’ novel of the same name, aspires to be a sweeping romantic drama steeped in poetic nostalgia and spiritual yearning. Unfortunately, what might have soared on the page as lyrical introspection struggles to find its cinematic footing. Despite its literary pedigree and the casting of celebrated actors like Pierce Brosnan and Helena Bonham Carter, the film fails to fully deliver on the emotional or narrative potential of its source material.
Instead, the emotional core of the story rests with its younger leads—Ann Skelly as Isabel and Fionn O’Shea as Nicholas—who are tasked with carrying the film’s weighty themes of destiny, love, and divine orchestration. Set in 1970s Ireland, the film places a strong emphasis on mood and mise-en-scène, prioritising windswept coastlines and candlelit interiors over character development and dramatic momentum. There’s an undeniable atmospheric richness here, but it often feels like a beautiful shell surrounding a hollow centre.
Despite the recognisable faces in its ensemble, Four Letters of Love does little to utilise its talented cast effectively. Brosnan and Bonham Carter, though prominently featured in marketing, are relegated to secondary roles as tormented parents caught in their emotional spirals. Their presence adds gravitas, but their characters—like those of many others in the film—are underwritten, functioning more as symbols of loss and confusion than as fully realised individuals.
The film is riddled with languid pacing and a tone that borders on overly self-serious. There’s a surplus of solemn silence and wistful glances, but very little dramatic propulsion. The result is a film that feels emotionally distant, as if the viewer is meant to observe the romance rather than feel it. When Isabel and Nicholas finally share the screen in any meaningful way, their connection feels less like a culmination and more like a foregone conclusion that the story never bothers to earn.
Perhaps the film’s biggest stumbling block is its unwavering devotion to the idea of predestined love. Rather than building a believable relationship between its central characters through shared experiences or emotional growth, Four Letters of Love insists that we accept their bond as divinely ordained. Their romance doesn’t unfold through mutual discovery or intimacy, but instead arrives by way of fate—a kind of spiritual inevitability. This philosophical framing might resonate with viewers inclined toward the mystical or metaphysical, but it undermines the characters’ agency and diminishes any emotional payoff.
Faith, miracles, and metaphysical guidance are central themes, yet the film rarely questions or complicates these ideas. Instead, divine intervention becomes a narrative shortcut, filling the void left by an undercooked plot. The characters, guided more by unseen forces than personal choice, drift through the film as passive participants in their own stories. As viewers, we too are left feeling like spectators rather than emotionally invested participants.
That’s not to say the film is without merit. Visually, it is often breathtaking. The Irish landscapes—both the rural isolation of Isabel’s coastal home and the quiet melancholy of Dublin—are rendered with painterly care. The cinematography evokes a tangible sense of place and time, and there’s a quiet power in the natural world the film so reverently showcases. In these moments, the film almost convinces you that something profound is taking place.
But beauty alone isn’t enough to sustain the weight of a love story. For all its attempts to position Nicholas and Isabel as soulmates, the film overlooks the most fundamental truth about cinematic romance: chemistry must be demonstrated, not merely stated. Their love is something that seems to happen to them rather than something they actively pursue or cultivate. Had they never crossed paths, it’s not easy to imagine their lives would be much different—an unflattering observation for a film that seeks to celebrate transcendent connections.
While the film gestures toward deeper themes—art as a form of suffering, generational trauma, the burdens of parental expectation—these threads remain underexplored. Their parents’ emotional volatility shapes both Nicholas and Isabel, yet these relationships unfold predictably, often veering into melodrama. Instead of mining these dynamics for complexity or emotional texture, Four Letters of Love settles for well-trodden archetypes: the tortured artist, the disillusioned mother, the emotionally unavailable father. Even moments of genuine sadness are dulled by the film’s reluctance to push its characters toward transformation or confrontation.
As the film approaches its climax, it paradoxically begins to lose steam, meandering instead of mounting toward a satisfying conclusion. What should feel like a cathartic convergence of fate and love plays more like a soft, uncertain fade-out. There are hints of a grand design, whispers of interconnection, but nothing solid enough to leave a lasting impression.
Ultimately, Four Letters of Love is a film that seems more enamoured with the idea of love than with love itself. It will likely find an appreciative audience among romantics drawn to spiritual tales of destiny and divine orchestration. But for those who seek emotional authenticity, narrative coherence, or character-driven storytelling, the film will leave much to be desired. In the end, it’s a story that wants to sweep you off your feet, but never quite gets off the ground.
Overall: 6.5/10
Movie Reviewer
