I’m not saying I’m emotionally constipated, I’m just saying my post-coital routine involves cab fare on the nightstand and moldy cheese in the fridge to deter breakfast-seeking freeloaders. Seriously. Don’t feed one-night-stands after midnight ‘cause, not unlike Gremlins, that way lies Relationship City, Population: You. But I digress. This film is the quintessential chick flick. Shit will make you cry, believe in the power of true luuurve and get you laid, gentlemen. Every. Single. Time.
P.S. I Love You follows the life, love, death and after-death journey of the Kennedys. Faced with the almost inevitable descent into crazy-cat-lady waters after the tragic illness and passing of her one true love and husband, Gerry, smokin’-yet-uptight Holly Kennedy embarks on an adventure to learn how to live again and discover the Cher of it all (life after love) led by letters her hottie-with-body, panty-dropping, beyond-the-grave-meddling Scot of a husband sends. Will those letters guide her to a new life? Will they teach Holly to let go and get banged? Will we ever forget that we allowed Coldplay to happen?
I could feel my cycle syncing up to hormonal bitches worldwide upon purchase of this DVD, my uterus moving into alignment for optimum crying as I placed the DVD in the player and my ovaries explode like fireworks on the Fourth of July when I pressed play. If you suspect your girlfriend’s a robot (Skynet’s only a matter of time) or a dude (meeting on twitter always works out) then sit this bitch on the couch and watch her watch this.
Despite the fact that this is an estrogen tornado of tears and tissues, P.S. I Love You manages to sail though the turbulent waters of chick flicks with ease. Gerard Butler’s accent does half the work and the ensemble cast surrounding Hilary Swank does the rest. Cards on the table, I ugly cried into a pint of rocky road and got a heart tattooed on my ass afterward. One of those things may or may not have actually happened. Swank’s atypical casting (Boys Don’t Cry, Million Dollar Baby) as a romantic lead places her awkward duck lips smack in the middle of trouble (but she manages to play her hard exterior as vulnerable the more the film progresses) though with the help of veterans like Kathy Bates and Lisa Kudrow she sells it like a Cyrus, I mean Lohan, I mean hooker, trying to make rent.
Though predictable, P.S. I Love You has a twist or two to keep it from flat-lining and the flashbacks and voiceovers actually serve the film well, propelling the story forward by taking a look back. Filled with heart and charm and humor to balance out the tragedy, this movie harnesses emotional lightning in a bottle and K.O.’s your heart in round one. Watch P.S. I Love You single and your sobbing ass will sign up for OkCupid on the spot. In a relationship? You’re gonna get BIRTHDAY LAID off this shit. Science fap.
P.S. I Love You is exactly what it appears to be (and unapologetically so), a dramatic, pathos-laden, tear-jerker selling crackpipe dreams of eternal love and predictable happily-ever-afters. Though an excellent representation of the genre, that plays to it’s strengths, I’m almost as fucking tired of this trite bullshit as I am with Justin Bieber (seriously Canada, what in the actual fuck).
Seen under the influence of alcohol you can almost forget the gaps in realism (‘cause I could mope around for a year doing absolutely fuck all and money would appear, family would understand and I’d totally switch careers successfully, no problem) obvious dialogue (“So now, all alone or not, you gotta walk ahead. Thing to remember is if we’re all alone, then we’re all together in that too.”-Patricia) and the mind-numbing Romantic Stockholm Syndrome of it all. Yeah, capital R, because this movie is in love with love to be in love with love for no other reason than to love love. Head hurt? Snort some bleach and you’ll be set.
Like the finest hooker of romance money can buy, P.S. I Love You will get the job done and your love-rocks off without breaking a sweat. Chick-flick gold and date-movie royalty, this movie keeps Kleenex in the benjamins. Two romantic nipples way, way up.
Do a Shot: for every karaoke fail.
Take a Drink: every time Holly has an accident
Bonus Irish Car Bomb: if Holly has an accident WHILE singing karaoke.
Take a Sip: whenever there’s a flashback, voiceover, or seasonal change.
Take a Drink: for each letter Holly receives/each time you hear “P.S. I love you”.
Take a Sip: every time Holly complains or doesn’t want to do something.
Shotgun a Beer: to get though the most awkward kiss of all time.