This is a movie made for women by a man.
Back at Hugh Grant’s office, where Hugh Grant does his man-politics, Hugh Grant is like, “Who do you have to screw around here to get a cup of tea and a chocolate biscuit?” Then Natalie walks in with a cup of tea and a chocolate biscuit.
Her. That woman. That’s what you have to screw.
Liam Neeson doesn’t know what to do because his eleven-year-old stepkid (whose MOM JUST DIED) seems to sit around in his room being sad a lot (!?!!?!?!?). Emma Thompson drops by to cheer him up with her own signature combo of product placement, synth strings, and being a fucking asshole for no reason.
From now on, every time I see a box of Frosted Flakes, I will think of Liam Neeson crying.
To be perfectly honest, Liam Neeson is really acting the hell out of this movie.
Okay, turns out, the kid—whose name is Sam and who’s played by Jojen Reed from Game of Thrones (what the fuck was the point of that character, BY THE WAY????? And I read the books!)—is “in love” with a girl named Joanna (which is his dead mom’s name, which the movie could have just not done!!!!!!!!!), but she doesn’t know he exists. Probably because he’s been hanging out with the men of Love Actually too much, so he just sits around feeling sorry for himself instead of talking to her like a human being.
When Sam tells Liam Neeson that’s why he’s depressed, Liam Neeson laughs in his face. Then they come up with nine hundred different strategies to “make” Joanna fall in love with him. Weirdly, none of the strategies are “Say hi to her.” Also not considered: “You’re eleven. Calm down, baby boy.”
(Ugh, Jojen, just put this movie out of its misery with your frog spear already.)
Hugh Grant offers to have Natalie’s ex-boyfriend murdered for telling her that her thighs are too large—which is an especially adorable flirtation when you consider that he’s a major world leader whose office has historically colonized half the world and bombed and murdered countless actual human beings. BUT IT’S PRETTY FUNNY IN THIS CONTEXT BECAUSE HE WANTS TO GET SOME HOT SNATCH.
Then he looks up at a photograph of Margaret Thatcher and calls her a “saucy minx.”
Hey, idea: I’m no Thatcher stan, but could someone respect a woman for one second in this movie? Or could we at least confine the misogyny to women who are actual characters in the film?
Okay. Seriously. Is this Colin Firth story line actually about human trafficking? Colin Firth shows up in France and this 90 Day Fiancé just gets dropped off at his house and he “falls in love with her” even though they cannot communicate and the only thing he knows about her is that he’s really, really into her butt. But it’s “love”! So he just “has” her now! She’s “his”! Colin Firth decided they should be together without ever saying a single word to each other, and so that’s what happens. Congratulations, now you have a weird stranger who lives in your house and fat-shames you in Portuguese. “Love.”
This entire movie is just straight white men acting upon women that they think they “deserve.” This entire movie is just men doing things!
Also, who writes their novel on loose pages on a typewriter in an open-air shack next to a pond? Amelia Bedelia?
Billy Bob Thornton, the president of America, comes to visit Hugh Grant. In the hallway, they run into Natalie Fatalie, and this exchange occurs:
Billy Bob Thornton: How’s your day so far?
Natalie: [Indistinguishable giggle.]
Billy Bob Thornton: Excellent.
First of all, how are you not gonna answer the president of the United States when he asks you how your day’s going, Natalie!? Too busy thinking about ham, I bet.
And second of all, once again, IT NEVER FUCKING MATTERS WHAT WOMEN SAY. THE WRITERS LITERALLY JUST TOOK A LINE AWAY FROM A WOMAN AND REPLACED IT WITH A NONSENSE SYLLABLE. SHE COULD HAVE ACTUALLY SAID SOMETHING, AND INSTEAD SHE JUST GOES “MEEP MEEP” AND BILLY BOB THORNTON POPS A BONER.
Third of all, it kind of seems like less a depiction of our president and more like Billy Bob Thornton just broke character when that girl walked by.
I find it personally insulting to imply that I belong to a species this simple.
Later, at a press conference, Hugh Grant causes a major international incident because Billy Bob sexually assaulted a property he likes:
I love that word relationship. Covers all manner of sins, doesn’t it? I fear that this has become a bad relationship. A relationship based on the president taking exactly what he wants and casually ignoring all those things that really matter to, erm…Britain. We may be a small country, but we’re a great one, too. The country of William Shakespeare, Churchill, the Beatles, Sean Connery, Harry Potter. David Beckham’s right foot. David Beckham’s left foot, come to that. And a friend who bullies us is no longer a friend. And since bullies only respond to strength, from now onward, I will be prepared to be much stronger. And the president should be prepared for that.
HE’S TALKING ABOUT HIS PENIS, YOU GUYS. It might be a small penis, but it wrote Harry Potter.
Everything in this movie is fucking insane. That’s not how press conferences work. That’s not how diplomacy works. That’s not how prime ministers work. NOTHING IS HOW ANYTHING WORKS. That’s not how weddings work, that’s not how audio recording works, that’s not how saxophones work, that’s not how hair works, that’s not how business meetings work, that’s not how art works, that’s not how grief works, that’s not how primary school Christmas concerts work, that’s not how airports work, that’s not how music charts work, that’s not how fat works, and none of it is how “love” works.
Keira Knightley, wearing an unacceptable hat, goes over to the best man’s house to look at his video of her wedding.
Turns out, the wedding video
