IN a small North Carolina coastal town, Travis (Benjamin Walker) is playing loud music on his front lawn. Next door, newly-arrived Gabby (Australian actress Teresa Palmer) is trying to study. Travis has a big female dog. Gabby has a big dog. Travis works at the veterinary practice run by his father (Tom Wilkinson). Gabby wants to become a medico in her father’s practice at the local hospital.

In the eleventh novel by Nicholas Sparks to be filmed, the symmetries are inescapable. Travis falls big-time for Gabby. Showing good judgement, she’s initially distant. Travis copes poorly with adversity.

The wooing is formulaic. They get married and have two kids. Travis is taking Gabby to an expensive restaurant for the first time in yonks, perhaps since they were married. It’s raining. A lady brings a crook pussy to the vet hospital. Travis should be heading for the restaurant but, heck, this cat needs attention. Gabby pays for her drinks and sets out to drive home. Her car is wrecked. She’s in a coma. Travis thinks it’s his fault. Ninety days later, he has to make the awful decision. To turn off Gabby’s life support, or to let her live on as a veggie. Which?

Alone in the cinema, I couldn’t stifle an audible gut response to the consequences of Travis’s decision. “You’ve got to be joking!”

The North Carolina coast looks like a pleasant place, but dramatically, “The Choice” looks like it’s built out of Lego. Sparks has sold millions of books. So have Mills and Boon.

At Capitol 6 and Hoyts