The film wants us to share its romantic idealism, about a love so great that it embraced decades and surpassed time itself. But nagging questions keep us distracted, such as: isn't it a little pointless to fly 68 years back in time for a one-night stand? H.G. Wells and Jack the Ripper traveling forward into modern San Francisco, contained a love story that had a lot of sly fun with the notion of relationships between people of different eras. This movie has a lot of qualities, but slyness and fun are not two of them. It treasures its lovers in such excessive romantic bravery that Rachmaninoff's Rhapsody plays almost every time they're on the screen. This is the kind of romance so sacred, so serious, so awesome, that you have to lower your voice in the presence of it.
Christopher Reeve plays a Chicago playwright who goes to Mackinac Island's Grand Hotel and sees a photograph of an actress who appeared there in 1912. He's impressed; no, he's fascinated. He investigates the actress's career, falls in love with her, discovers that time travel is possible from a pseudoscientific psychology professor, and hypnotizes himself to travel back to 1912. The film never makes it clear whether the playwright travels through time or is hypnotized into believing he does. It makes no difference. He meets the young actress, played by the preternaturally beautiful Jane Seymour, once he's back in 1912, or so he thinks he is. "Is it... you?" she wonders aloud. Yes, it is! Yes, it is! Even with Rachmaninoff, a little goes a long way.
This film might have its flaws, like the vast majority of films, but it offers a unique, novel approach to the time-travel experience and the romance too.
