The movie is the true story of pulp writer Robert E. Howard, who was at his peak in the mid 1930’s. The story is not a romance, though it feels like one at first, and the ending is not happy. It’s one of those “acceptance” endings, where the main character doesn’t get what she wants, but accepts the way things turn out.
As I always do with “true” movies, I was Googling Howard even before the final credits rolled and found out that he was an even bigger success than the movie implied. His books are still in print, he’s hailed as a master, and he didn’t write past age thirty! You’ve probably heard of one of his most famous characters: Conan the Barbarian.
Writers have a reputation for weirdness, but this guy was really eccentric. I’d have said he was bi-polar or something, but apparently a psychiatrist friend of the family said he was as mentally sound as anyone else . . . just eccentric. Really.
In any case, if you enjoy stories about writers, this is an interesting tale. But keep the tissues handy.