November 7, 2003 | Richard Curtis,
the screenwriter of Notting
Hill and Four Weddings and Funeral, graduates
to multi-hyphenate status with Love Actually , and it's altogether
appropriate to grant him a passing grade for his directorial debut.
An affectingly seriocomic crazy-quilt of overlapping love stories in
and around London, Curtis' hugely enjoyable comedy-drama strikes a
delicate balance between silliness and seriousness, sentiment and sardonic
wit, even as it warns that not every love story ends happily ever after.
It's a given, of course, that if we're dealing with a scenario contrived
by Curtis, Hugh Grant must figure into the mix. Sure enough, the nimbly
self-effacing farceur is first among equals in the ensemble cast, gracefully
playing a newly elected, vaguely Tony Blair-ish prime minister who's
conveniently unattached as he moves into No. 10 Downing Street. He's
scarcely through the front door before he's distracted by Natalie (Martine
McCutcheon), a chipper household staffer who's all the more delectable
for not being supermodel-svelte.
Truth to tell, there's a bit of meat on
her bones. And while she wears it well, she's more than a little self-conscious,
thanks to a churlish ex-boyfriend who made pointed reference to “thighs the size of tree trunks” before
his departure.
The PM, savoring the pleasure of her company,
graciously offers to punish the bounder: “You know, being prime minister, I could just have him killed.” (Not
for the first time in his career, Grant seizes upon a mildly amusing
line and, with perfect-pitch timing, makes it sound flat-out hilarious.)
Natalie – flashing just a hint of a smile – responds: “Thank you, sir.
I'll think about it.”
Elsewhere amid the entangled plotlines,
other romance-in-the-workplace stories proceed apace. Harry (Alan Rickman)
is happily married to Karen (Emma Thompson) – who just happens to be the sister of the newly elected
Prime Minister – but he can't help responding to the none-too-subtle
blandishments of Mia (Heike Makatsch), his aggressively adoring secretary.
Jamie (Colin Firth), a jilted thriller writer, flees his unfaithful girlfriend
to complete a novel at his villa in the south of France, where, when
he's not plotting some character's untimely demise, he falls in love – slowly,
sweetly -- with Aurelia (Lucia Moniz), his Portuguese housekeeper. That
she can't speak much English, and he can't speak any Portuguese, is at
worst a minor impediment to the blossoming romance.
Not all storylines are created equal. The
ironically shy and formal interplay between two body doubles (Martin
Freeman, Joanna Page) for stars in a sexy melodrama never amounts to
anything more than a lame running gag. Laura Linney is pleasingly plucky
as a transplanted American who pines for a hunky office co-worker,
but she's undone by a plot device – i.e.,
a choking family tie – that's introduced far too late in the proceedings.
And while Liam Neeson hits all the right emotional notes as a recently
widowed stepfather who offers romantic advice to his lovestruck 11-year-old
stepson (Thomas Sangster), neither he nor Sangster can do enough to encourage
a rooting interest in either of their characters.
On the other hand, Kris Marshall is uproarious
as an unlucky-in-love doofus who suspects (or, more precisely, hopes) that
his Brit accent will be catnip to the ladies in the nether realms of Wisconsin.
(“I am Colin, God of Sex.
I'm just on the wrong continent, that's all.”) And Bill Nighy ( Still
Crazy ) is tremendously funny as he more or less unites the disparate
elements of Love Actually as Billy Mack, a burnt-out rock star
who shamelessly attempts to re-ignite his stardom by doing a sappily Christmas-themed
version of a golden oldie.