This film has the same soundtrack as a tampon advert. It’s quite the departure from sad Americana-infused music for the actress who looks enough like Lana del Rey to justify me making all these references to Lana del Rey. In hindsight it would’ve been a better use of my time just to listen to Lana del Rey, but I make these sacrifices for you my crap film fans.
A few pebbles hit your windowsill. I wait on your front lawn until you open the window and look down.
“What are you doing? It’s quarter past midnight on the 15th February, it’s not Valentine’s any more!”
“But I have so many bad films!” I hold up some cheap DVD cases. “And with these, it’s Valentine’s any day of the year.”
Remember that first awkward relationship you had? Your friends talked to their friends; you kept your safe distance and smiled at one another whilst your best pal arranged the entire thing? Your only date was lunch at whatever cafe did the cheapest cheese toasties, and after about five minutes you realised you had nothing in common except for the shyness which stopped you from ending it for another month?
This film is the freaking embodiment of your awkward toastie lunch.
Thanks for nothing, Love Actually. You came along, with your portmanteau of cheesy rom-coms, and everyone admitted five years later that they secretly love your array of awkward turtlenecks and watch it every Christmas. Sure, that’s fine, but Love Actually, you knew that Hollywood wouldn’t leave it be. You KNEW that they’d tried to attach a load of A- through C-listers to a sentimental holiday and it’d be enough to make Emma Thompson go and secretly cry upstairs again.