It’s the worst of both worlds as Disney cash cow Miley Cyrus makes the most dubious “dramatic” debut of any singer since Britney Spears in “The Last Song” — a risible Nicholas Sparks tear-jerker that makes the recent, similar film derived from Sparks’ “Dear John” look like “The Notebook” by comparison.
Displaying approximately 1½ expressions, the teenage Cyrus pouts her way through a fire, a wedding and a funeral — not to mention intervening in an abusive relationship, digging out guilty secrets and resisting overtures from her dad, whom she’s never forgiven for her parents’ divorce.
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Along with her annoyingly precocious younger brother (Bobby Coleman), Cyrus — whose character has improbably been raised in New York City — is being forced to spend the summer in a sun-dappled Southern beach town with her dad. This impossible role is played by Greg Kinnear, who manages to recite purple prose like “love is fragile, and we’re not always its best caretakers” with a straight face.
This being the sort of movie where the audience knows what’s going to happen about 45 minutes before the characters do, Kinnear’s makeup and demeanor from the first shot (not to mention the high mortality rate in Sparks’ adaptations) rather obviously telegraph that he may not make it till the final reel.
Miley is also making a halfhearted attempt to resist romantic overtures from a volleyball-playing rich boy portrayed by bland Aussie hunk Liam Hemsworth, who has become Cyrus’ boyfriend in real life — something not at all reflected by their total lack of on-screen chemistry.
Though a blond ex-girlfriend and the hero’s snobbish mother try to split them, we know they’ve bonded over her trying to help sea turtles hatch on the beach.
Sparks himself collaborated on the very moist screenplay, whose occasionally hilarious excesses are underlined by Julie Anne Robinson’s ham-fisted direction and Aaron Zigman’s schmaltzy score, even though they are already IN ALL CAPITAL LETTERS WITH EXCLAMATION POINTS!!!
I should mention that Cyrus’ character is a pianist whose youthful reputation is such that Juilliard has accepted her without an audition — despite the fact that her piano solos in the film have been doubled by an obviously older pair of hands.
Because “The Last Song” is an attempt to position Cyrus as an actress, her singing is limited to briefly accompanying a song by Maroon 5 on the radio.
“Wow! YOU CAN REALLY SING!!!” says the boyfriend. To paraphrase “Citizen Kane,” that, thankfully, isn’t my department. But act? I don’t think so.