Irreplaceable You (Film) Review

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Is there anything more baller than fixing up your loved one with his next love interest before you pass on? I think not. It might be a bit dubious given freedom of choice but the thought is there.

This is the premise we’re faced with this week and I’ll warn you, this is not an easy watch, especially if you have a frame of reference around The Big C. I know, right, who hasn’t? Here we go.

Irreplaceable You (2018)

IMDB Synopsis

A couple who have known each other since 8 are destined to be together until death do them apart.

My Review

This is not a film that would have interested me that much had Christopher Walken and Kate McKinnon not been in it. It was the bit with the support group that sold this to me in the trailer and I’m not sorry. It’s as sweet and weepy as expected. Is it breaking molds and pissing all over boundaries? It is not but I can’t expect that of all films, all the time.

Abbie (Gugu Mbatha-Raw) and Sam (Michiel Huisman, Daenerys’ fuck piece in Game of Thrones) have been together since they were kids. They’re destined to be together basically and everything is amazing until they mistake a tumor growing inside Abbie for a foetus. That’s right, that old bastard malignant cancer has come to devastate yet another set of lives and there’s little anybody can do.

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Of course Abbie is gutted but she gets on with treatment as best she can. She bonds with her nurse Dominic in the treatment suite (Timothy Simons) and joins a local support group, run by Mitch (Steve Coogan). Here she meets a band of unlikely allies; Glass Half Full Kate (McKinnon), Myron (Walken), Mean Phil and some others. She also learns that crocheting is a metaphor for… getting on with shit? Death?

At first our protagonist is not keen to mingle in this new environment but after a few choice words from Myron, she decides to return. A solid friendship is also born between this unlikely pair and honestly, it’s one of the best things about the film.

During a conversation however, about how Sam is likely to go through a slut phase when Abbie is gone, an idea is conceived: Abbie will pick her replacement now, saving him the job. Our girl is convinced her man is going to be such a hot commodity that he won’t stand a chance against the women of the world – and that his inexperience with the opposite sex will not serve him well either. Oh ye of little faith.

In a distinctly un-feminist montage, Abbie interviews a whole slew of supposedly unsuitable ladies she’s stalked in Tinder, deeming none of them right for Sam. They’re all either too mental or attached to their cats for Sam but then she meets cute barista Sally who wholeheartedly embraces this unorthodox plan and even helps Abbie out a couple of times. That there’s a bit of an unexpected spark between Sam and Sally when they meet does not go unnoticed by Abbie or us, the dear viewer.

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Well, as with any cutesy plan, a flaw usually comes along to derail it and in this scenario it’s Sam himself. Horrified that Abbie thinks so little of him being able to take care of business himself, he gets mad and says something hurtful he can’t take back. The pair start to show signs of strain and decide to spend some time apart.

In this time, Abbie suffers a great loss and makes a couple of life-changing decisions for herself. What will become of our lovers, The Plan and everyone close to Abbie? Well, you know the drill.

My Thoughts

You know right away how this one ends up, so there’s no will she/won’t she. Despite its depressing outcome it has some minor laughs and both leads are likeable if a little bland.

As mentioned, the supporting characters are the ones that keep this engine ticking over. I really found Glass Half Full Kate’s honest monologue touching and relateable. Her world view is basically the same as mine and if she was a real person I would have grabbed her in a bear hug and never let go.

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Cancer fucking sucks and it ruins lives. It take our loved ones without prejudice and I hate it but being able to talk about death and loss and love , well it’s healthy and real. Unavoidable some might say. But it’s the love and the light and all the cliches that are what matters ultimately and this is what the film says. Again, no surprises just a nice film with some good bits.

My Rating

3/5. Pass the tissues.

What did my Queen think of this one? Would she meet it in group or run away never to return again? Find out here.

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The Flawless Mr Hoffman

esq-philip-seymour-hoffman-1112-lgA year ago today the world lost one of the most incredible actors of our generation.

Philip Seymour Hoffman was 46 when he passed away. When I found out I was numb for a little while (but managed to write this the day after, though I can’t remember doing it). I felt numb in that way that you can only really articulate by saying “I can’t believe it” over and over. It is an odd feeling to grieve for someone you’ve never met, only admired on a big screen, but it is still genuine emotion.

This loss is a massive one. There is nothing more I can add to that. It’s all been said already.

But I wanted to mark this horrible anniversary with a celebration of some kind, rather than dwell on melancholy. There were times in my life when I was blown away by this man. He made me laugh and cry; and sometimes he scared me. I felt like he spoke to me on a personal level and I think that’s the beauty of a greatly talented person.

I believed him always.

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I’m hard pressed really to refine my favourite PSH moments. It would be very hard to narrow down my most loved performances to just a handful.

Well, sort of. I mean, of course he was exceptional as Truman Capote in Capote. He’s been great in nearly every film he put his name to (with a few exceptions), stealing scenes left right and centre.

But by far my favourite PSH turn is in Flawless. As Rusty, PSH took my admiration to a whole new level. This is how I choose to remember him, as the ballsy female impersonator with a whole lot of heart. (I reviewed the film a few years ago, here).

Rusty is the ultimate Groupie for the Underdog. Cheerleader for the brow beaten and the bullied. Fighting for the rights of the LGBT and being fucking fabulous while she does it. Reeling off one liners like rapid machine gun fire, she is exactly the kind of person you need in your life, and on your side.

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Rusty is the person she is because of all the things she’s been/is going through and is the sum of all her own insecurities, all her flaws. And that’s what makes her beautiful and strong.

I used to watch this movie religiously, at least once a month. I watched it not long after PSH died and it was hard to do. I still miss him.

So this year I’ll be respectfully remembering the man I loved for over a decade, who made even the smallest character study a fascinating one, who ruled every scene he was in.

To you, PSH, forever.

Sad Happy

I’m so sick. Again.tumblr_ndwzxopc701r5gmiko1_500

Just as I was weaning myself off liquid centered throat sweets (cherry, natch), I caught another cold and this one’s a doozy. I feel like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man has taken up twerking in my brain.

I’ve had a shower, I’ve watched a film Mr B would hate whilst shoveling Chocolate Orange segments into my face (he’s gone bowling). I have tea; and I’ve talked to my mum on the phone.

I’ve done all my comfort bits and even though my eyes and nose are still leaking, I feel okay.

My grandfather passed away last weekend. It was to be expected for a 98 and a half-year old but the truth about life is that you are never that prepared. Expecting things to come almost adds a new level of panic to the event when it does arrive, like you’ve had too much time to think about how you will feel and how you will react.

We’re all pretty sad. I’m sadder than I thought I would be. He’s been such a huge part of all our lives forever, in good and bad ways. And now he’s gone and that’s a big thing. I’ve talked about him before. I was truthful but not very kind.

And now he’s gone, it doesn’t feel that good. It’s sad. Sad for him, mostly.

When people die it’s normal to think hard about your own mortality. This makes me think about my legacy. Who will I be when I’m old? Will I still be a decent person? Will I be missed?

I hope nobody says I am better off gone. I hope when I do toddle off this mortal coil people will at least say that I was funny. Or sweet.

Nice is a bit boring, but if that’s what my legacy is destined to be then so be it. I can live with nice.

But don’t think I’m sitting home crying into my comforter. Well, I am crying into my comforter but it’s because of my cold, not sorrow.

Uncle Robin 1951 – 2014

Robin-Williams-robin-williams-32089824-2798-3916Yesterday most of the world woke up to the news that Robin Williams had passed away.

I was in a decidedly un-glamorous place as I scrolled through Facebook and found out for myself (embarrassing source of all my news). My subsequent scream from the bathroom caused Mr Bee to get very annoyed when he realised I hadn’t just been injured or attacked.

It is always strange when a beloved celebrity passes away. This year we have already been rocked by the passing of another favourite, Philip Seymour Hoffman, and in similarly shocking circumstances (all still alleged). Hoffman from a heroin overdose in his own bathroom and now Williams, who is believed to have taken his own life.

It’s just so very sad. I guess when you think about death at a not even that old age, you hope for something quick and painless. Tragic, of course but natural. To consider the ongoing suffering of somebody famous for making others feel better is a bitter punchline in itself.

This morning as I was stomping around the park thinking about this subject and of what Robin meant to me, I got to thinking about the joke Rorschach tells in Watchmen:

I heard a joke once: Man goes to doctor. Says he’s depressed. Says life is harsh and cruel. Says he feels all alone in a threatening world. Doctor says, “Treatment is simple. The great clown Pagliacci is in town tonight. Go see him. That should pick you up.” Man bursts into tears. Says, “But doctor… I am Pagliacci.” Good joke. Everybody laugh. Roll on snare drum. Curtains.

Moral of the story: you never know.

Now, I don’t feel qualified to comment on what sort of torment must lead a person to such a hopeless place. I don’t think it’s the cowards way out though.

I know a few things about mental illness and depression, I know a bit about addiction but all my experience is second hand. I know it’s serious and that we should be able to talk about it openly, without judgment and help should be readily available. It goes further than that though and I understand this.

I just feel incredibly sad. I feel as though the world will genuinely have an empty hole in it now. Robin always felt like an uncle to me and when we spoke about him, Mr Bee and I called him ‘Uncle Robin’.

Had he been my real uncle (and I do love my actual uncles), I imagine Robin would have been able to fix anything with a hairy armed bear hug. Nothing could be bad within that embrace and nothing would ever light up the room like that smile. That laugh.

Now this is my fantasy, of an uncle I’ll never have but I’m sure his own children felt that way about him. I’m sure his friends, his wife, all his loved ones felt that way too. I hope he’s at peace now.

Rest easy, Peter Pan.

Obit

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Write your obituary (via Writing Exercises)

God, this will be a challenge. I was going to say it’s a bit macabre to think of now but actually, should we be looking at death in such a negative way? There’s a beautiful simplicity to the fact that we’ll all face it one day and, of course, I don’t want to dwell on it for too long but I don’t think we should be afraid. So I’m going to attempt this with some relish.

When I go, to be fair, it won’t matter what anybody says; I won’t know.

One person could turn up to say goodbye and that might just be the person leading the ceremony. There might not be a ceremony at all. I might be fed to the neighbourhood strays in bite size chunks. If the World ends before I’m ready to go, we’ll all be in it together. Here goes:

Sad news comes in today of the passing of Christa Bass. Mrs Bass, of Austrian descent, was a well loved daughter, sister and wife, best known for her clumsiness and ability to make a mountain out of a molehill.

A mediocre writer, Bass spent an awful lot of time talking about writing when she should just have written but did enjoy minor celebrity when she had published a slim tome of tongue-in-cheek life advice.

Bass was quite nice, sometimes funny and without question one of the best tea makers of her generation. She was also good with little paintings in nail enamel and quite eloquent in small groups.

She is survived by her handsome husband who has full permission to remarry as long as the new wife reads, her step son, three cats and a dog named The Hound. Yes, she finally got the be the pet owner she was born to be.

She will be missed. Quite a bit, actually.

Here’s hoping, eh?*

*That I get to have pets.

Is this a depressing topic or do you think we should all be better at talking about these things? What will people say about you do you think?