Shit, shitty, shit, fuck, asshole, fucker, Barbara Streisand. P. S. I Love You had me going for a good half hour as one of the best romantic comedies I've ever seen until the writers decided to go on strike and put the rest of the film in the hands of the pre-pubescent retard monkeys whose idea of a “good rom-com” come from the scripts that fill the dumpsters right outside of the Disney Channel production offices. It was almost offensive how bad this movie got after the sweet, touching beginning that could win awards if it just kept driving the path it was on. But no...pre-pubescent retard monkeys.
Let's get into the good really quick because making me think about this movie will rapidly make me dwell on the shit it became. P. S. I Love You starts off focusing around the couple of Gerry (Gerard Butler who, again, shows that he understands how to play a rom-com) and Holly (Hilary Swank, who was cast just for the first scene alone but left to linger and be a worthless waste of space because her Million Dollar Baby training made it dangerous to try to kick her out of the studio). They're fighting about their idea of a future; whether or not it involves children, a house, a bigger apartment, how long 'til things start happening...typical fight. Holly is taking the overly cautious, conservative approach (I was reminded of Jamie Buchman from Mad About You) and thinks that if it's not where it should be by now, they have a long hard road ahead of them and wonders if that road is worth going down. Gerry takes the hippie “Love is all we need” approach while making the valid claim that even though it's not the dream life that movies are made of, it's not at any sort of point that could be considered a lost cause. Very well done fight that ends with the sweet make up sex that makes those fights worth it to begin with.
Cut to three months or so later, just after the opening credits. Gerry's dead of a brain tumor. See that coming? I read the fucking back of the box and that still threw me for a loop. Holly spends the following few weeks in solitude, greiving like someone would grieve if they honestly believed that death just meant “Gerry's sleeping for a while, but he might wake up some day,” until her birthday where she gets a cake and a letter from her dead husband. The letter discusses a plan to tackle that cautious, conservative side of Holly by sending a series of other letters that must be followed to the T that will force her to explore boundaries she would normally be afraid of. Love it. Fifteen minutes in and there's so much potential here to be this amazing tearjerker that really had me laughing hysterically at the same time. Very difficult accomplishment. Now let's take a shit on it.
As soon as the film establishes direction, it acquires a ridiculous case of A.D.Kitty(!). Not knowing if it wants Holly to grieve or move on, P. S. forces Holly to dance through a nonsensical series of steps forward and backward on this journey towards “enlightenment.” It takes those moments that normally symbolize deep character development, jerks them off a bit, then just before it starts to feel satisfying, the movie stabs them in the eye and goes on to the next victim scene and repeats the process resorting to drab robotic lines and pointless slapstick humor that infects movie trailers that just want to scream “don't worry! You won't walk away feeling anything!”
She finds a love interest for 5 minutes, ends that, goes to Ireland with her two moron friends, fucks a guy there, forgets to feel any discomfort because she's a fucking “grieving” widow (wow, that's true both ways), comes back from Ireland, loses those two moron friends, gets them back, finds a new hobby, ignores that new hobby, tries out potential 5 minute guy again, that stops right after it starts...are you noticing a theme here?
There's no respect for the man who put this together, there's no emotion, the sentimentality of this incredibly sweet, romantic, noble gesture has as much staying power as any toy for any 5 year old on any Christmas morning ever. This movie plays with its revelations for about as much time as it takes to notice that there's a new revelation with prettier wrapping and as a result, every step forward is completely devoid of meaning and I'm left on my couch with my jaw dropped saying “Worst. Tribute. Ever.” I actually felt bad for Gerry and his beautiful plan. It's like he was nothing more than a roommate. Letter after letter came through and Holly just ripped them open with the enthusiasm of a teenager getting a birthday card to see how much money was inside, letting the widow cry a little tear only if she accidently read the name on the card. And after all was said and done, our main character walks away learning nothing. Changing so little it's like she spent every scene reminding herself “it's a movie. He's standing by the director, but he's really dead here.” She might as well have taken his letters and set them on fire, cause lord knows the writing sure felt like it wanted to.
Three months ago, I lost a woman I loved dearly. It ripped me up inside and the first fifteen minutes of P. S. I Love You were dangerous for me to watch. But that ended quick as this braindead story slapped me in the face and said “remembering it is stupid.” It became painful to watch for a different reason and as I drudged through the pathetic, unintelligent, overdone “chick-flick” humor, the severe lack of chemistry between characters, the poor, poor performance by Hilary Swank, and a story was obviously made by a group of people who have never lost anyone that meant anything to them ever, I am thankful that I mustered up the strength to survive this unfeeling, uncaring film because I came so close to saying “Corinne, I'm dedicating this review to you.”
But no person should be remembered and tributed this way. This was just embarrassing. 4 dustbusters out of 10.
P.S. Go fuck yourself, movie. You want a film that gets this "pre-meditated journey of enlightenment" idea right? Go watch Elizabethtown.
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