126 min. minutes | Rated PG-13
Hey, you stupid movie. I don’t love you. In fact, you are terrible. If we were married and then you died of a brain tumor, and then you sent me magic love letters from beyond the grave (which is exactly your plot), I would throw the letters into the garbage and then I would pee in the garbage can. Your star, Hilary Swank—dead of husband, pointy of spine (“You make a ravishing widow, sis!”)—is just so, so unappealing as a romantic-comedy lead. She’s annoying. She’s a snooze. (Also, her character makes “shoe art”! SHUT UP.) Your dialogue is insane. You do have three things to recommend you, though. The first thing is Lisa Kudrow. The second thing is hot Irishmen. The third unexpected gift is Harry Connick Jr., who, with the deadest of pans, consistently spins your horrible writing into comedy gold. But seriously, when Harry Connick Jr. is the funniest thing in your movie, it’s time to get a brain tumor. P.S., I love hot Irishmen.
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