‘Bridges’ Takes Sentimentality Far Over The Top
Familiarity and tedium ultimately send “The Bridges of Madison County” collapsing into a heap of thematic rubble.
Yes, this is an old book, but it’s still on the bestsellers list. Why? Love stories are like any other sure-fire formula: as long as their abundance is kept in check and innovative, witty new spins are applied in equal, healthy doses, there is no need to fret that readers will eventually become keen to the fact that their virtually being taken for a ride that has no other destination except the bridal suite of some plush hotel situated on the beaches of Tahiti.
Robert James Waller’s insufferable novel “The Bridges of Madison Country” would fit perfectly into his genre if not for the fact that it consistently treats its subject like its the most staggeringly profound experience since God wrote the Ten Commandments. This saps the book of its genre’s one priceless aspect: innocence.
An aura of mechanized sentimentality pervades the opening pages of the story. The plot focuses on the socially unbecoming lifestyle of photographer Robert Kincaid (supposedly based on a true incident). Recently divorced and lacking the enthusiasm to tackle another relationship, he decides the only true way to be at peace with himself is to take the assignments that put him as far away from the rat race and closer to the more calming points of nature as he can possibly be.
He chooses to journey into Winterset, Iowa and photograph the dazzling old and weathered bridges, which are one of the town’s main features. While looking for directions, the day of his arrival, he meets an alluring middle-aged woman named Francesa. Her family has gone off to the Illinois State Fair, leaving boredom to eventually take its toll on her. Both are almost instantly attracted to one another that predictably leads to a love affair that will rejuvenate as well as shatter each other’s lives forevermore.
Waller has a keen eye for atmosphere. The cool streams, green pastures and bridges captures the dominating literal idea that all great relationships must be consecrated in gorgeous locations. Usually, this visual style serves as only a skeleton where a provocative plot is fleshed out. “Bridges” is distressingly not that story.
One of the chief fallacies is that the character of Francesa is not allowed to develop beyond the standard ploy of the sexually repressed wife who is caught between either remaining faithful to her family or the one man she truly loves. Instead of probing into the multi-layered facets of infidelity, Waller seems to want only to epitomize “love” in the purest sense of the word.
Robert on the other hand is outrageously perceived as some sort of white knight. He’s the prototypical hunk with the heart of gold, who by defining and alienating himself from industrialization and the burdens of conducting a substantial relationship makes him a perfect foil and source of admiration for the more restricted and down-to-earth Francesa
True, Waller has fashioned a novel of such shamelessly sentimental proportions that many a heart will probably flutter. Of course, those looking for the slightest insinuation of relevance and boldness will find “The Bridges at Madison Country” about as appetizing as French Dip without the Au Jus.