When divorced thirtysomething Louise Harrington (Laura Linney), who works in the admission’s department at Columbia, gets an application from an emo-type in Rhode Island, she’s reminded of an old boyfriend who died in a horrible car accident. The similarities are incredible: Both are named Scott Feinstadt, both like to paint, and both look like Topher Grace. Sound familiar? Suggesting a strait-laced version of Birth, Dylan Kidd’s P.S. begins promisingly as an exploration of a mystical intersection of past and present.
In the Grace’s artwork, Kidd evokes the possible transference of spirits, and it’s the return of the living dead that allows Louise to finally sort through the baggage of her semi-damaged life, which includes an ex-husband (Gabriel Byrne) who’s a sex addict and a brother (Paul Rudd) who likes pie. Though mannered, Linney’s performance is a graceful rendering of a midlife crisis. And while Kidd’s direction tends toward the inert, it isn’t without lovely surprises, such as a scene at a pool hall where Louise begins to act like a jealous schoolgirl.
But after an hour or so, Kidd seemingly takes a cue from his lead character when she says something to the effect that the story’s mysticism is too much for her. It’s here that Marcia Gay Harden enters the picture and P.S. turns into Desperate Housewives. From the mystical to the trashy, the film’s shift in tenor wouldn’t be so bad if Kidd treated coincidence as a form of abstract art or took the desires of his female characters a little more seriously.
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