Spoiler alert: Look, I’m about to shred the so-called Love Actually sequel, so if you haven’t seen it — and want to — perhaps look away now.
Twelve minutes. That’s all it took to destroy the memory of one of the most-loved romantic films of all time.
And for what? Well, to raise more than $115 million for charity, which is obviously lovely and noble, but makes this ‘film’ no more tolerable.
To be clear, I’m not one of Love Actually‘s biggest fans. I do, however, get a little kick out of watching it every year at Christmas time when nostalgia is running high, or if I’m totally knackered and just want to watch sentimental British people doing love or whatever — with the added bonus of seeing the birth of Christ attended by tiny octopi.
When I heard about the Red Nose Day-themed reboot I wasn’t thrilled. For one, a sequel would have to account for the loss of Alan Rickman and, while I’m a feelings-full sod, this seemed like too much to cope with. I also think sequels should be outlawed because they are almost invariably utter dross.
Regrettably, curiosity got the better of me.
Red Nose Day Actually sucks. Actually. Like, it’s Year Nine end-of-year media project bad.
The script is awful. The performances are as forced as Amber Heard and Johnny Depp apologising for smuggling Pistol and Boo into Australia, and the gags are as tired as a democratic system that allows Hugh Grant to be Prime Minister for THIRTEEN YEARS.
Remember this guy?
Well, he's back. Mark is back. And he's still the same overzealous creep who felt entitled to film his best friend's wife on their wedding day before showing up at their home and propositioning her with sleazy placards. He has a beard now.
He's also married to Kate Moss, apparently, which he decided to announce in a second unsolicited visit more than a decade later. It also seems an entirely inappropriate reward for someone who is two steps away from being a sex offender.