Watch/Download => The Fault in Our Stars Online Movie

Augustus gets it. Having lost a foot to the disease, he now trails unlit cigarette from lip, as away of daring fate to interrupt his determination to live an “extraordinary life”. He wears the mysterious, unalterable smirk of someone famous and adored in another universe, who is just waiting for this one to catch up. Egort played Woodley’s brother in Divergent, but here seems much more personally and professionally fulfilled to be playing an out-and-out dreamboat: a self-confessed virgin, Gus texts when he should, boasts killer abs and gets up immediately from his video game when Hazel enters the room — by common agreement, the modern definition of gallantry. Hazel can’t take her eyes off him, as if incredulous at his all-round gloriousness, and he agrees to be drunk in, in a spirit of magnanimity as much as anything else.
The film works on only one level, but so completely on that level that the rest doesn’t seem to matter: Woodley and Egort have terrific chemistry. There will doubtless be cynics who fail to take Gus at his own estimation – “I'm really kind of an awesome guy”– on the grounds that he isn't really any kind of guy at all, more a gleaming, golden incarnation of the filmmakers’ desire to pave every step of Hazel’s way (and by extension that of her audience) with fluttering wish fulfilment.
Point taken. “The world is not a wish-granting factory,” says Gus, unlike the movie, which is a wish-granting machine. It’s all soft touches, like being covered in kisses. I’ve never heard so many sounds of "aw!" from an audience. Tracking down Van Houten via email, Gus elicits an invitation to visit and lays on an all-expenses paid trip to Amsterdam, where he takes Hazel to a champagne dinner, declares his love for her and, the next day, takes her to see her hero. Van Houten turns our to be not only scowling and drunk, but played by Willem Dafoe, which is a bit like coming across Max Schrek grinning at you, fangs and all, at the centre of a bunch of roses.
Dafoe gives a snarling little speech on infinity, fictionality and the limits of adult pity —the only serious misstep of the film, popping its mood with a burst of vinegar. They end up in Anne Frank’s house, of all places, where Hazel pants up the stairs with her oxygen cylinder to the sound of tour-guide narration (“Where there is hope there is life”), reaches the top, kisses Gus and receive a round of applause for her labors. You won't know where to put yourself. The whole episode feels almost drunk, it's so bad, but then it seems to be the curse of these YA adaptations, that the very in-built audience that guarantees a studio green light also seems to guarantee a timorous fidelity to every comma.