The film opens with narration over a day at Heathrow airport. We are treated to a grainy, home video sequence of fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, boyfriends and girlfriends, all reuniting at the arrival terminals. The quality of the opening intro is reminiscent of the last british film I saw, 28 days later, but creepy for wholly different reasons. "Love actually is everywhere," contends Hugh Grant, and two and a half hours later I was almost inclined to agree. Love Actually is one of those films that somehow managed to stir something in my somewhat stony, semi-fatalistic heart, and for a short while after I still felt the residual tug at the proverbial heartstrings. If a film like this affects me to that extent, imagine how it'll affect someone who is, say, more susceptible to romantic-comedy mush . I smell holiday blockbuster.
Love Actually manages to not get too bogged down in it's ten, intertwining stories. While it was difficult to commit to memory more than 5 character names, every sub-plot was treated fairly and effectively. Choosing an all-star, ensemble cast was a good choice on director Richard Curtis' part. Every actor and actress made the most of his or her (literally) fifteen minutes of onscreen presence; lesser performers couldn't have delivered as much impact in such a short span of time. It was almost like watching a series of short-films stitched together by Christmas cheer and six degrees of separation. By the movie's climax, every one of the bajillion characters are related in some way or another.
My favorite story has sandwich-vendor Colin Frissel packing his bags and heading for the states (Milwaukee, of all places), betting his british accent will help him score with the chicks. There is a moment when his buddy, Tony, en route to the airport, tries to talk some sense into him:
Colin: I'm on the shag-highway heading West! Woo!
Tony: This is stupid. No.
Colin: Yes!
Tony: NO!
Colin: YES!
Tony: NOOOOOOOO!
Colin: YEAHHHHHH!
Tony: NIEN!!!!!
Colin: JA, DAHLING!!!!
Then it cuts to this long, surreal sequence where Colin arrives in some seedy, Milwaukee bar, asks for a bottle of your "average, american beer," and ends up shacking up with 4 hot ditzy girls because they like the way he says "bottle." It's so ridiculous it's funny, and I kept waiting for him to wake up---except he never did. The next time we see him he's back at Heathrow, with Shannon Elizabeth in one arm and Denise Richards in the other, and Tony's got this look on face like he's about to cry...
There are several other standout moments littered throughout Love Actually. Every scene with Billy Nighy is ten times recompense for Underworld. He almost plays the role of the washed up, strung out rockstar too well. And of course there is that Hugh Grant solo where he shakes his groove thang to the Pointer Sisters (Jump!) after standing up to the American President (well played by Billy Bob Thornton). There is one particular scene that continually repeats in my head, and only because it feels like it came right out of The WB: Mark (Andrew Lincoln), who's been secretly pining for his best friend's wife (Keira Knightley), finally decides to let well alone and leave, storming out of his apartment to the tune of the Roswell theme. What's great is that the timing is so perfect---the climax of the song coincides exactly with Mark zipping up his jacket and walking off into the cold, London night, dejected and alone. I can't decide whether I'm turned off by the sappy cliche that is that entire scene, or whether I'm in awe of it's brilliant execution.
While Love Actually brings nothing new to the table, it is well done and worthy of recommendation. I liked this film. There are times when it calls for a little suspension of belief, but keeping in mind that it is a romantic-comedy-christmas movie, I think most will let it slide.
Go watch.