Against my better judgment, against the arbiters of good taste (the Film Critics of the world, unabashed comptrollers of opinion), and against my own (fairly) proud film viewing tradition, I have chosen to see PS I Love You. Now before my faithful readers begin sputtering their incredulity or venting their cultural spleens at me, let me explain why.
My younger sister, a tough, pragmatic, and vaguely “high maintenance” married woman who works as an administrator in Canada’s federal prison system, is also someone who has a very tender heart, high expectations for personal experiences, and a fierce love for those closest to her. This last, I’ve always assumed, includes me, her high-minded, intellectually snobby, romantic world-viewed, unemployed, unmarried elder. As such, we’ve often got together at the cinema, with the best of intentions of enjoying ourselves, and come out bickering or in stony silence, our enjoyment of the film we’ve just seen grossly incompatible with the other’s. There have been exceptions, of course, Wes Anderson flicks being a mutual favourite, but mostly, when we do manage to see the same film, we disagree.
Which brings me back to PS I Love You, the highly improbable sob-fest starring Hilary Swank as a toothy widow and Gerard Butler as her bracelet-wearing dead husband. The premise: Gerry,
Based on the novel by Cecilia Ahern,