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‘Book of Love’ Review: Lust (Eventually) in Translation

Unbeknown to the author of an uninspired romance novel, the book takes a sharp turn into erotic territory in its Spanish-language release.

“Who wrote the book of love?,” the Monotones once mused. It couldn’t possibly be Henry Copper (Sam Claflin), a stodgy author whose debut romance novel is so devoid of passion that it sells only two copies in his native Britain. But when an audacious translator named María Rodríguez (Verónica Echegui) reimagines Henry’s chaste love story as soapy erotica, he becomes a surprise sensation in Mexico.

In “The Book of Love” (on Amazon), María is not only a remixer for Henry’s duller passages, she is also his assigned escort on his book tour of Mexico. Henry, who doesn’t speak Spanish, is excited — if perplexed — by the legions of fans who turn out, titillated by the telenovela-worthy sex scenes María added to his work without consulting him. But once several comic exchanges bring her poetic license to light, his thrill turns to rage. Choking on sanctimony, Henry agrees to continue on the tour, but only to preserve his reputation.

When, and in which picturesque city, Henry and María will acknowledge their mutual affection is the burning question of this romantic comedy trifle, which offers a few laughs and many more exasperated groans. As our leading man, Claflin alternates between a pout and a wan smile, and shows all the charm of beans on toast. As for María, there is something tired and clichéd about a Mexican woman’s being deputed to help a British fuddy-duddy embrace narrative spice. It’s a shame that the movie, written and directed by Analeine Cal y Mayor, can’t see that María has better things to do.

Book of Love
Not rated. Running time: 1 hour 46 minutes. Watch on Amazon.

Source: Movies - nytimes.com


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