Letters to Juliet

Letters is Viagra for vaginas.

Enter the formula of “chick flicks”.  Letters to Juliet occupies Italy, not unlike the Nazis.  Prepare for flyovers galore.  Over the sweeping hillsides, pillar-like cypress gardens, through the narrow streets and alleyways and out into bustling city centers.  This is not a trick.  Women are meant to see this and gush, “oh I wish I could go there”.  As the pompous New Yorker editor replies at the end of the film, “invest in Alitalia, because all the women who read this are going to want to go to Italy.”  No one should be surprised if Italy’s tourism board funded this film.

And to continue quoting the romantic nonsense of this film.  At one point, eyes-too-far-apart Juliet tells douchey-British-love-interest that he’s wrong about his gran-gran staying in love with some Italian boy she “got sweaty with” fifty years ago in the dirt of Tuscany.  She proclaims, to whoops and hollers from the audience, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know true love had an expiration date.”

The formula continues by perpetual wine binge drinking that puts “Sideways” to shame.  Apparently all that people can do in Italy is drive around and drink wine – which isn’t too dissimilar from my own experiences in country.

The film also takes advantage of its location in Italy to blast the audience with an insipid soundtrack, shamelessly combining Taylor Swift with contemporary Italian pop music.

By now, the reader must be wondering about the plot.  Trust me, so was everyone else in the theatre.  Oh wait, no. They weren’t. This movie is utterly safe.  Eyes-too-far-apart has a douchey fiance – who is too involved in his job to even spend a day with his fiancée  – and they go on a vacation before their marriage to Verona.  Wherein, spread-eyes finds a wall that has magical properties.  It casts a spell of confounding on women, where they scribble tear-soaked letters on Post-Its, smash them against the wall, and begin speaking in tongues.

These are the Letters to Juliet, the wall is the famous – fake – Juliet’s balcony.  Also, a coven of witches collects this bounty of soaked spell-paper to feast upon residual emotional energy.  They answer the pleas for help these ordinary women scribble down, and whilst doing it experience an orgy-like sensation.  Is it surprising that a gaggle of Italian witches would want to gossip over the wrenching confessions of heart-broken girls from around the world?  No.  That’s what women do.

In closing, eyes-too-far-apart breaks off with her fiancé and gets with douche British guy with a great body/smile/accent.  Oh, and the main story is that the two misbegotten lovers are helping British gran-gran find her long-lost lover.  Who is the Dos-Equis guy.  He also rides a horse through a vineyard to sweep grandma off her feet.  The horse is white.

Girl boner.


3 Responses to Letters to Juliet

  1. Pingback: My Mom Thought This Was Funny « Obey This Journal, M.D.

  2. Pingback: Some Narcissism, If You’ll Humor Me…. « Obey This Journal, M.D.

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