Just as the book was rather too self-consciously 'literary' - desperately over-written and in need of drastic editing - so the film indulges itself in luscious, dazzling photography to tell a thin story. There are just too many beautiful shots that say nothing: it's more of a filmic coffee table book than the work of a true film-maker. And this hides the fact that, while the story is an important one, its treatment here is superficial, sentimental, trite and predictable. A lot of talent has gone to waste on self-indulgent twaddle that never rises above the level of a TV mini-series.
Review of Snow Falling on Cedars
