Movie Reviews

Warner Bros. Pictures

Review in a Hurry:  You can probably find similar drivel on Lifetime or the Hallmark Channel. A sweet, smart Manhattanite (Hilary Swank) loses her hunky hubby (300 stud Gerard Butler) to cancer and then receives a series of letters he wrote before croaking. If you want a moving story about love and grief, look elsewhere; if you want a gimmicky weepy featuring hard-bodied leads in their skivvies, this is the one for you!

The Bigger Picture:  P.S. starts at a shrill pitch with a long, expository, precredits scene: spirited Irishman Gerry (Butler) and his real-estate wife Holly (Swank—what, did Sandra Bullock pass?) bickering about babies, apartments, careers and everything else. But they still have the perfect marriage, see, because they immediately have great make-up sex, with Butler doing an embarrassing striptease in boxers and suspenders. Things don't get much better from there...

The pic abruptly jumps ahead to Gerry's funeral. We're told he died from a brain tumor, although—in the numerous flashbacks—he never looks ill or less than movie-star handsome. Why let anything real or honest interfere with a chick-flick fantasy, right?

Holly goes into mourning, holing up in her messy apartment, watching old movies, natch ("Why can't I be Bette Davis?" she sighs to the television), and in one particularly painful bit, sings along with Judy Garland in A Star Is Born. Her mom (Kathy Bates) and gal-pals (Gina Gershon, Lisa Kudrow) are concerned, but only Gerry can help our Holly out. Fortunately, he wrote her lots of letters, which she receives over subsequent months, and even planned her vacation to Ireland—all while battling terminal cancer! The missives, always including the postscript in the title, guide Holly through the grieving process and help her move on.

Holly's new life includes potential romance with Irish singer William (Jeffrey Dean Morgan) and bartender Daniel (Harry Connick Jr.), who has a "disease" that impedes his mental filters, so he blurts stuff like "I think you're hot!" I guess it's the rom-com version of Tourette's.

The film's cutesy, high-concept premise strains credibility, and the sitcommy situations (see Swank fall off the stage while performing sexy karaoke!) never quite jive with attempts at poignancy. Swank does cry beautifully, but she and Butler generate little heat, even though both frequently appear in their undies. In one lengthy flashback, after lots of talk about "the perfect kiss," their close-up lip-lock is surprisingly boring. Like the rest of this trite treacle.

P.S. We didn't love it.

The 180—a Second Opinion:  Some gorgey natural wonders are on display—and no, I don't mean Swank's exposed midriff, Butler's bare chest or Morgan's nude butt. I'm talking about lovely panoramas of "the garden of Ireland," an area south of Dublin, where several scenes were shot. Half-naked Hollywood hotties can't compare to these rolling hills and shimmering lakes.