Love, Actually


I might have seen Love, Actually. But if I had I wouldn’t admit it to you of all people. Here is my review of Love, Actually:

Pull a turnip out of a fallout field. If you can, select the stubbliest hunk of irradiated fibre. Cover it in sequins. Remove the heart from the chest cavity of a toad that died of ennui. Pin it to the turnip. Creep home before your paramour finishes work. Attach it to the light fittings in your living room and set it a-twirling. Bang! When your partner gets home they will find a beautiful Valentine’s Day Glitter Ball spangling and spinning as if from the very heavens: a heartfelt token of your affection and esteem.

Or buy your partner Love, Actually. There are, after all, many ways to celebrate Valentine’s Day. But you’d better hurry up and choose one sharpish: Valentine’s day is only 352 days away!

The title of ‘Love, Actually’ mimics the tendency of British people to use redundant mincing adverbials in their plum-cheeked speech. Walk down any turnpike in ye olde Albione and you will invariably encounter a variation on at least one of the following expressions: ‘Uhhh, it’s the Magna Carta, actually’; ‘He handled the Suez Canal crisis tolerably, actually’; ‘The tea party went swimmingly, actually, but the bombing raid actually went terribly horribly, actually’; ‘He isn’t the actual Chancellor, actually, he’s just a bumpkin with a nose for danger and mean left hook’.

British people are world-renowned for the high regard in which they hold their own capacity for self-effacement, their British irony, and their tiny penises. I should know, I’m one of them, and I’m pretty much the most self-effacing person I know.

This is a bonking good caper about a bunch of British people who manage to enter into consensual romantic relationships with one another in spite of their inability to speak sincerely. It raises the intriguing conundrum: how can we express our feelings to one another if we are permanently in thrall to British irony? Is it possible to say ‘I love you’ and mean it even when you don’t mean it? I’m not sure (I’m being ironic).

Hugh Grant plays a prime minister who goes through puberty while in office. His female aide offers him some useful tips and reassures him that the changes he is experiencing are perfectly normal. Love grows like the tentative tufts of pubic hair that newly sprout in the PM’s pants.

Alan Rickman plays a melted old sagpuss who falls in love with a binman. The binman thanks him, says he is very flattered, but that he has just got out of a difficult relationship and needs some time to think.

Who else is there? Let’s see. Andrew Lincoln plays a thoughtful and sensitive sexual harasser. Bill Nighy plays a furious octopus man who copulates with walruses. In short, there’s something for every one in this film. Except me. And possibly you. But I’m sure your partner will really like it, if you wrap it up nicely.


2 Responses to “Love, Actually”

  1. spicyeggnog Says:

    What man in their right mind would buy their beloved a rom-com when it carries the risk of being subjected to said rom-com? It would have to be part of an elaborate plan in man’s eternal quest to get his oats.

  2. johnlebaptiste Says:

    It’s better than the soiled prosthetic arm and the pastel drawing of Ted Bundy you presented to your wife last Valentine’s Day. No oats for Spicy Eggnog.

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