Prim and proper schoolteacher Kate (Andie McDowell) falls for ex-pupil Jed (Kenny Doughy), a 25-year-old romantic who’s mistaken for a lothario by Kate’s two best friends, the thrice-divorced Dr. Molly (the always fierce and frightening Anna Chancellor) and cuddly police officer Janine (Imelda Staunton). There’s two half-assed weddings, one death and no funeral but Crush still feels like an inconsistent riff on that other, more famous Brit comedy which also happens to star McDowell and Chancellor. In the film’s lovelier moments, the gals booze and share their man stories, spewing enough double entendres to tickle even the most puritanical housewife. Jed plays his organ at the local church, wowing Kate into a lovelorn fugue-state. He’s an expert organ-player, turning Kate into an expert word-mincer (she’s so love-struck that “stuck with the census” begins to sound like “fucked senseless”). Crush is so warm and fuzzy you might be able to forgive director John McKay for turning Molly into a mean-spirited viper during the film’s messy second half. Friendship becomes a virtual litmus test though it’s not long before these 40-something women liquor up once more and start dishing out the pet names (something about “Queen Nasty of the Hound People”). As photographed by Henry Braham, Crush features some of the most impressive indoor photography since The House of Mirth. With lines like “your better than sausage” used to glibly tackle marital incompatibility, it’s a small wonder that Crush is endearing enough to remind us that love can indeed exist beyond ecstasy and gonorrhea.
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