IF MY LOVE WROTE LETTERS...
Category: P.S. I Love You Reviews | Posted by: stagewomanjen
Article Date: February 13, 2008 | Publication: newpaper.asia1.com | Author: Jeanmarie Tan
I KNOW this is a morbid subject for Valentine's Day week, but I've been thinking about what happens when the love of my life dies.
Holly (Hillary Swank) gets letters from the grave telling her how to live after her husband (Gerald Butler) dies.
Yes, I'm touching all sorts of wood and repeating 'choi!!' (a Chinese exclamation to ward away bad luck) as I write this.
What do you do when your soulmate is unexpectedly taken away from you in his prime?
How do you say goodbye to the man of your dreams and start anew without him?
In the new treacly romantic comedy P.S. I Love You, based on the best-selling chick-lit novel by Cecelia Ahern, Hilary Swank plays Holly, a happily married New Yorker who suddenly loses her Irish hubby Gerry (Gerard Butler) to a brain tumour.
She is utterly bereft until she receives a series of letters from her departed hubby that are delivered at key moments during her first year of widowhood.
It turns out it's all part of his pre-arranged grand plan to help her adjust to a new life.
Somehow, while battling terminal cancer, he was still selfless enough to think ahead and guides her through the grieving process and onto a journey of rediscovery.
Hmm, a dead guy reaching out from beyond the grave with a laundry list of instructions telling me what to do in order to appreciate a second shot at life?
On paper, it does sound a little creepy.
In fact, it sounds almost like what Saw 5 could be, only without the exploding self-mutilating traps.
Gerry's ability to create games, dares and tasks in his letters and tape recordings suggests he probably got some inspiration from killer Jigsaw's work.
But I think it's probably the ultimate act of love, the most romantic gift one can ever receive.
The best way to show your wife you love her when you're on the brink of death isn't with a diamond ring or candlelit dinner, but by giving her back her life.
So if my husband ever sent me posthumous missives, I'd like to see stuff like:
Love, splurge on a sexy new outfit, then go out and party with your best friends.
Now, a green light from your husband to go shopping is almost like receiving a sign from God.
Knowing me, I'd have turned into a miserable moping little hermit.
I'd be curled up in bed, either in a state of vegetation or wallowing in my big fat self-pitying tears.
I would be eating instant noodles every day out of our increasingly unkempt house, wearing the same pyjamas for a week and ignoring my handphone.
I'd want to be alone with my memories of him and watch Ghost over and over again.
Retail therapy, good company, loud music, free-flowing alcohol and a good barf could certainly get him out of my system and kick my butt back into civilisation.
Love, go on a prepaid holiday to Rome, New York, Maldives and all our other vacation spots.
It's the perfect excuse to take an even longer break from work and see these places with fresh eyes.
Sometimes, in order to prepare and ready yourself to move forward, you have to take your own sweet time to reminisce about the past.
Love, I have a secret stash of cash, stocks, bonds and property - and it's all yours!
Now that's what I call Husband Of The Year material.
Someone who meticulously takes care of your financial needs way in advance and provides for you on a rainy day.
I mean, that's exactly what you'd do for your kids right?
Love, throw away all my clothes so you'll have more closet space.
A woman can never have enough wardrobes, but this is a tough one.
Remember the last scene of Brokeback Mountain?
You can't help but want to hold on to any remaining piece of him just to feel that tiny bit closer.
But I can't be smelling his jackets or wearing his T-shirts and boxer shorts forever because then where would I put my sexy new outfits from letter No 1?
And finally, I give you permission to love again.
Holly gets back into the dating game and enjoys guilt-free romances with an Irish singer who happens to be Gerry's childhood friend (Jeffrey Dean Morgan) and her mother's bartender (Harry Connick Jr).
But we get the feeling that no man can replace her one true love.
Now, I've watched enough movies to know that Gerry is a chick flick fantasy - and that real men are simply too lazy for such complicated undertakings.
So I guess I just have to pray that I go first and my hubby is the one who has to suffer.
PS: You know I love you!