The Shell Seekers

This is a very slow paced film about a grandmother (Angela Lansbury) who spends all her time thinking about the past, and beating herself up for how selfish and greedy her children turned out. The writing is stilted and artificial, like little polished speeches rather than dialogue. It feels as if lifted from pop-psychology books. Nothing much actually happens except some soulful hugs and a lot of complaining.

There are scenes involving sea shells which are supposed to be cosmically significant. It reminds me of the kinds of films my friends made as teenagers full of Deep Inner Meaning.

The adult children are like the rude aristocratic brats lifted from an Agatha Christie novel. It has a non-believable too-happy ending.

This could have been an excellent film--and 90% of it is. But for some inexplicable reason, Hallmark decided they needed a "happier" movie and rewrote crucial segments. I won't give away the changes but if you loved the book, you'll be outraged. The new dialogue also sticks out like a sore thumb.

The movie is nowhere as good as the book. They took out all of the things that made the book so emotional and amazing. Not a great rewrite at all.

Otherwise Angela Lansbury is always great to watch.

Angela Lansbury has raised four unhappy children. The people her age blame her for this, as do they. Seeking answers to questions she has not heard, she returns to Cornwall, where she first met their father, now dead, and the man she might have married, Sam Wanamaker.

This was a Hallmark Hall of Fame presentation, and it shows all the, well, hallmarks of that: pretty as a picture camerawork - the Cornwall setting looks like it was painted by Degas - and deep feelings expressed in long, declaratory statements.Miss Lansbury and Wanamaker do fine. A short turn by Michael Gough is fine. Everyone else seems sullen at best, spiteful at worst. Everyone but these three old timers seem to be aggrieved just for the pleasure of it. The conclusions Miss Lansbury comes to are simple and not particularly healing, but her character seems satisfied with them. Well, at least someone is.

Penelope Keeling has just had a heart attack, or so her doctor says, but she cannot tolerate the sights and sounds of impending death that surround her at the hospital. So against his orders, she goes home. She looks over her garden, and determines to clear away the weeds there, when suddenly a memory of the past flashes before her: a vision of her mother Sophie and her playing against a beautiful seascape. Her father is in the foreground, capturing the scene on canvas, and it isn't unlike his painting on her parlor wall called "The Shell Seekers" that she keeps because it's a document of the days when she was most happy.

It's a mighty vision, because in it lies the heart of Penelope's gift--the joy of living that her dead mother was able to pass on to her, a joy she so wishes she knew how to convey to her children--and can't. And in her frustration, she embarks on a journey to recapture that happiness again.

In its soft, hushed way, "The Shell Seekers" is a testament to what great television can be. John Pielmeier opens before us the mystery and grandeur of Rosamund Pilcher's story about maternal loss and love, and Angela Lansbury reveals sides in the embodiment of Pilcher's creation that reach something primal inside of you and takes root in you for what seems might be forever. I don't think I'll forget the ending to this movie as long as I live. It jerked tears that I never thought I had; the last time my heart was caught in my throat this hard was in one of the great crying parties of all time "Imitation of Life." And where Juanita Moore's problem was obvious, Angela Lansbury's is less clear. Her past suffering was brought on by the surprises that war springs on unsuspecting people and the usual entanglements brought on by hostile relatives, but the sorrow about her grown children is much more mysterious like the deep, blue sea Penelope seems to be stretching her arms out to. Lansbury has never been this pensive in a role, although she had a lot of practice on "Murder, She Wrote." But nothing there ever had this kind of lingering poignancy. With Anna Cateret, Patricia Hodge, and Christopher Bowen as her children; Denis Quilley as Hodge's lover; Sophie Ward as his mermaid of a daughter; Mark Lewis Jones as the gardener with a tender secret of his own; and Sam Wanamaker as the man Pen let get away. If Cornwall is as beautiful as Waris Hussein is able to show us in this movie, I hope to visit it one day.