The critics have been cruel to The Lovely Bones, and I can't say I'm in the least surprised that, in their infinite wisdom, they've deigned to treat it to such unusual punishment. Don't misunderstand: this is a great film, decidedly above the average fare that previous reviews have compared it to. It has its faults, certainly - the pacing is off, the script doesn't always hit home, a few key performances are somewhat marginalised - but not one of the missteps this adaptation of Alice Sebold's award-winning novel makes is justification enough for the snobbish nit-picking that it has been subjected to since its release in December.
In 2002, Sebold made waves with The Lovely Bones - and not only in the speculative fiction community, which celebrated her impressive debut with a Bram Stoker award. Mainstream readers, too - not typically the type to be interested in dead girls narrating horrific tales of their own rape, murder and more from beyond the grave - found themselves taken in by the author's somber yet somehow uplifting story.
However Sebold managed to break away the usual constraints of popularity in one genre or another, her first novel won a prominent place in the popular consciousness and a film adaptation became the sort of sure thing you'd gladly bet your life savings on. But it's been eight years in the making: half a decade since it was reported that Peter Jackson and his partner had personally bought the rights to the harrowing narrative of Susie Salmon, and going on the overwhelmingly negative reaction their version for the silver screen has met with, perhaps the time to cash in on Sebold's success has passed.