Review
I must admit that by the end of the second act of Nights In Rodanthe, the sappy romantic inside of me was almost won over by the film. Almost. But about a minute into the third act, the professional film critic in me took over, immediately recognizing the filmâs overly sappy final 20 minutes as a form of exploitation on our emotions. It's as if the film is trying to bully us into weeping, saying Look how sad this is.



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