P.S. I Love You posits itself as a romantic comedy
with a twist, the twist being that the romance takes place largely between a
young woman and a man who remains a part of her life even after he dies. But
here, instead of Ghost-like visitations, he sends her a series of letters from beyond the
grave, intended to help her through the grieving process. Does this sound
romantic, or does it sound like stalking? Whatever the case, the big problem
with the film is that the letters lack the poetry or imagination to tug on the
heartstrings; instead, they seem weirdly controlling and creepy, as if their
author is having a harder time letting go than their intended recipient. This
may be the first time a dead man would be a good candidate for a restraining
order.
The opening scene strikes an
unexpected tone of marital distress, as practical-minded New Yorker Hilary
Swank gets into a huge fight with her husband, a carefree, impetuous Irishman
played by Gerard Butler. One cut past the credits, Swank is attending Butler's
wake at a local Irish pub a few years later, surrounded by loved ones,
including her friends Gina Gershon and Lisa Kudrow, and her mother Kathy Bates,
who never much cared for Butler. On her 30th birthday, Swank receives the first
in a series of letters Butler wrote to her before he died, each intended to
beckon her out of their cramped apartment and rediscover the world without him.
From something as small as taking center stage on karaoke night to something as
large as traveling with friends to mother Ireland, Swank does things she would
have never considered otherwise. She also starts seeing someone new, a
sympathetic barkeep played by Harry Connick, Jr.
Writer-director Richard LaGravenese
is known as one of Hollywood's go-to screenwriters, credited or uncredited, but
the films he's directed, such as Living Out Loud and Freedom Writers, are memorable more for their
terrible titles than any lasting distinction. Working from a novel by Cecelia
Ahern, LaGravenese brings some intelligence and maturity to a genre that sorely
needs it, but it isn't enough to prop up this long-winded and thoroughly bland
romantic comedy. With a cast this stacked, it says something that Harry Connick
Jr., the least accomplished actor of the bunch, gives the only lively
performance as a well-meaning dope whose sweetness compensates for a severe
case of social retardation. For what it's worth, he's far more charming than
Butler, but it's no use competing with the dead.