Winter's Tale is cold in its bones.

Once I’ve read a book, I rarely feel the need to see the movie version.   The opposite is also true; there haven’t been many movies that I have seen that made me think, “I really want to read the book they made this from.”  “Winter’s Tale” is an exception to my rule.  What is on the screen is often lovely, and the story has the makings of a passionate tragedy.  And yet, it feels somewhat cold and still rather than moving, a story without its heart.  The heart, I think, that must have remained in the pages of the book.

The story is one of the battle between good and evil, waged in human souls, and determined by human miracles.  Each of us, it seems has one miracle to give to another person, and whether that miracle is bestowed or dies unused adds to the tally scores of heaven or hell.  Demons, spirit guides, and fallen angels all take part in swaying the odds to one side or the other, with the demons taking the most active role.   The forces of good are more subtle, often showing the hero, Colin Farrell’s thief Peter Lake, his path by way of glimmers of light, although he meets his spirit guide, a white winged horse, early in the tale as well.  Peter falls in love with a young girl who suffers from consumption (Jessica Findley Brown),  and the forces of darkness attempt to pull them apart before he can give her his miracle—but who is really to be saved?

Sometimes painterly cinematography, lovely performances, and an interesting premise—why do I feel that I’m missing the soul of the story?  Perhaps it is in the book—