Franklin's screen version of the Quindlen novel does not escape the TV-movie-disease-of-the-week syndrome. Neither does it escape a certain schematicism in its treatment of women's issues, mother versus daughter, family versus career, love versus sex. The old-fashioned homemaker and community do-gooder never seems a credible mate for the pretentious my-career-is-more-important-than-your-career college Lit. professor, with his ready anecdotes of Steinbeck and Schiller

Powerful performance elevates melodrama. I liked the way Hurt's character was portrayed, and found it to be the most interesting aspect. I feel that it would have benefited from condensing a little, also.

It's the same story we've seen and heard over and over, but though this sounds cliché-ed, Streep truly manages to take it to a higher level. And Renée Zellweger is quite good as well.

True to form for modern chick pictures: All About Our Suffering, and all the men are twits. It's reasonably entertaining, but still...

More of the same, but with more "love" of sorts. The handling here is better, & the story a different sort of poignant. The cast works together to make a realism invade the viewer which is somewhat refreshing (depressing). But in a good way.