P.S. I Love You

“I wish I had someone dead telling me what to do.”

Holly (Hilary Swank) and Gerry (Gerard Butler) are the cutest couple ever! They met cute, their first kiss was precious, and they even fight cute. This movie is so stuffed with cuteness it makes The Care Bears Movie look like Schindler’s List. Problem is, he’s dead. But don’t worry, it’s not a downer because Holly even mopes cute.

After an excruciating long lead-in we learn Gerry has died and left letters and presents for Holly to be sent to her over the course of the next year. In movieland this is a cute adventure, but in reality this is almost insanely cruel forcing a wife to continue pinning away for her dead husband. So early on you realize this film relies completely on movie logic (also known as the lack thereof).

Gerry’s letters bring back memories and uber-cute flashbacks as well as gifts and instructions. No, nothing smart or magical about the meaning of life from a man who knows he’s dying. Instead we get Holly singing karaoke and taking a trip with her two best friends (Lisa Kudrow, Gina Gershon) to Ireland.

The film is just relentless. Even the bartender (Harry Connick Jr.) at her mother’s (Kathy Bates) bar, who hits on her at her husband’s funeral, has that cute but dumb movie guy thing down cold. There are no surprises here, only more forced cuteness and canned laughter and tears.

Swank feels oddly out of place her in a traditional chick flick and I can’t help but wonder what kind of blackmail it took to force her to do this film. As an actress known for her strong roles in previous films, she’s badly miscast in the role of a the whinny Holly. I can only assume she wanted to prove she could make an inane romcom like everybody else, but she should leave such twaddle to Kate Hudson and Mandy Moore.

For a film about a man dying of brain cancer this is about the sunniest film I can remember. Sure it tries to fit in sad moments in between all that sugary sweetness, but it’s hard to feel sad when you’re going into insulin shock from the amount of pixie sticks being relentlessly shoved down your throat. Mark this one up to a mistake folks, and do what Holly should have done early in this film, move on.