Next up is the granddaddy of all those festive multi-strand narrative films I’ve had to wade through and, though it’s definitely overstuffed and way, way too heavy on the cheese, it’s still thoroughly entertaining. Yes, it’s 2003’s Love, Actually. It’s been years since I last saw this and since then I’ve done a pretty good job of convincing myself that I hate it but this time around I must hold my hands up and applaud its contrived but optimistic and whimsical script. Writer/director Richard Curtis has a ridiculously awesome cast for this treacly spaghetti junction of intertwining love stories and this is the film's biggest strength.
Hugh Grant plays the coolest Prime Minister in history, a total dude of a man who stands up to bullies, defends the honour of ladies, tells it like it is and even dances around No 10 to Girls Aloud with reckless abandon. He makes you wish he was your mate. Watching P.M. David actually depresses the hell out of me, during a week where there is serious pressure on the real Prime Minister Boris Johnson to resign, following some blatant fibbing regarding boozy Tory parties that happened last Christmas, in direct violation of Covid rules that he imposed. He insists these shindigs definitely did not happen but assures that he and his cronies followed all the rules, just in case they actually did. God, we could do with a David right now.
Anyway, Love, Actually is mostly a heart-on-sleeve crowd-pleaser, made in the shadow of 9/11 and sticking two fingers up to hate-spreaders everywhere. Starting and ending in an airport lounge, we're reminded that such places are mainly filled with love and happy people, so pleased to see each other and be reunited or seeing each other off. It's all rather lovely, highlighting that airports should be an exciting place, despite what those misguided hijackers once did. It's already a very sweet film, so setting the whole thing at Christmas gears us up for a shameless loveliness overload.
On top of Grant's swinging bachelor P.M., who bashfully woos Martine McCutcheon's adorable Downing Street assistant, we also get Martin Freeman and Joanna Page as an adorable twosome who have a meet-cute on the set of a film they're acting in. Oh yeah, and they just happen to both be nude body doubles who have to mime bonking each other. There's no real tension or conflict here - Curtis obviously thought that it would just be funny enough to have these two shyly court each other while starkers and making casual smalltalk about car-parking. He was right.
There's also Colin Firth as a fusty author working in France who falls for his pretty Portuguese housekeeper (Lucia Moniz) with the catch being that neither speaks the other's language. There's no real reason for this to be set in France, other than it all looks gorgeous, so fair enough.
Laura Linney almost steals the show as a withdrawn office worker who tries to overcome her bashfulness when she gets a golden opportunity to hit on gorgeous co-worker Rodrigo Santoro . Complications arise when she struggles to choose between romance and caring for her mentally ill brother. This plotline pisses me off as Linney's Sarah is the only character not to get a happy ending. The film seems to be saying that it's not possible to be a carer and have a love life at the same time, which just plain sucks.
Curtis attempted to right this wrong with 2017's TV special sequel Red Nose Day Actually by pairing Sarah off with super-hottie 'McDreamy' Patrick Dempsey, though the afflicted brother seemed to have just disappeared. Hhmmmmm.
Elsewhere effervescent pixie dream girl Keira Knightly gradually discovers her new husband's best man (Andrew Lincoln) has fancied her all along. This leads to perhaps the film's most famous bit, with Lincoln silently declaring his love to her through massive flashcards at her front door in the snow so her fella doesn't hear. This bit also massively pisses me off because this prick is telling his best friend's wife that he loves her. What a dick. Keep it to yourself, loser.
Liam Neeson is in there too, acting his ass off as recently bereaved step-dad to a lovesick schoolboy (Thomas Brodie-Sangster) who desperately wants to ask out the most popular girl in school. The relationship between these two is sweet and deftly handled, though I'm sad to report that this plotline does descend into almost unbearably sappy mad-dash-to-the-airport cliche.
Kris Marshall is pretty hilarious as a goofy, horny caterer who sells all his stuff to travel to America, convinced that all the women there will drop their pants for him just because he's English. The joke is, they actually do.
Alan Rickman and Emma Thompson have a much heavier storyline as a married couple whose relationship is threatened by a young, slutty secretary. Thompson has an amazing standout scene where she shows off about a million different emotions while standing silently in an empty bedroom. This illustrates perfectly why the woman is a national treasure. She makes me want to cuddle her and kick Rickman's sorry ass.
Bill Nighy rounds things off as a wrinkly, ageing rocker who can't help but let loose and misbehave in his quest for that year's coveted Christmas Number One song and, more importantly, to just stay relevant. Gregor Fisher is similarly excellent at his long-suffering manager who may also be the (platonic) love of his life.
The plots all vaguely, kind of snowball together, but not in much of a meaningful way. Some stories are way better than others but it's hard not to get engulfed in the film's big wave of love-conquers-all good feeling. It saddens me that there's no room for a genuine same-sex romance in this love smorgasbord but hey ho - Curtis already has plenty of plates to keep spinning. It's perhaps to the writer/director's credit that he also doesn't tidy up all the loose ends either - love is a complex, tricky business after all, but I still can't help but feel gutted for the Sarah character during the film's happy-clappy Beach Boys-soundtracked romance strewn climax. Still, this one's (almost) as feel-good as they come and, despite my previous misgivings, has truly cemented its place as an undeniable British Christmas classic, actually.