Hilary Swank is, by far, one of my favorite actresses. No one, and I mean no one, who has ever seen Boys Don’t Cry can claim not to like her without me thinking that they’re tasteless freaks with a fondness for stupidity. (No, I’m not calling you stupid for not liking Hilary Swank… I’m calling you a tasteless freak who enjoys being stupid. Not necessarily a compliment, I know, but it’s still not "stupid".)

But as much as I love her, I was a little disappointed when I found out that she was to have the lead in P.S. I Love You.

You see, I read P.S. I Love You. And it was one of those very rare novels that had me anxiously awaiting to see the movie version of a book that I hated. Yes…

Hated it.

You read that in the voice, right? Because I so typed that in the voice. And for those of you who have no idea what voice to which I’m referring, you are far too young and/or pop-culturally deficient to be at this blog. Step back from the computer- it’s just a jump to the left and then a step to the right… Nevermind. I can tell that you’re hopelessly lost. Moving on now.

I generally avoid reading popular fiction because, all too often, it is
written for the popular masses. (Imagine that.) And those popular masses? They be
hatin’ on the adjectives, yo. And P.S. I Love You definitely falls into the popular fiction category.

The book read like a vintage Dick and Jane. It wasn’t cute, or light, or fun, or even endearing. It was a telegram. Stop. In bound form. Stop. That lived in my bathroom. Stop. For months. Stop. Even though I usually read through a book in a day. Stop.

That’s rather annoying, isn’t it? Okay, I’m stopping now.

But the plot?

The plot had so much potential.

And with each turn of the page, I could see myself one day thumbing my nose in the face of danger and joyfully sitting down amongst stale popcorn and rude cell phone users to weep in public.

Translation for those of you who count yourselves among the aforementioned popular masses:

I would see this movie.

Dick and Jane would see this movie too.

So if I was actually expecting this to be a good movie, why was I so disappointed  that Hilary Swank was going to be in it?  Well, because I wasn’t so sure that it would be that good of a movie…  and I was afraid that I would be disappointed in her for taking the role.

Until I saw her multiple leading men, that is.

Gerard Butler, Jeffrey Dean Morgan, and Harry Connick, Jr.?

We’re talking hot and Scottish, hot and would have his quadruplets, and hot and croon-y and Louisianian.

Hillary Swank is no longer one of my all-time favorite actresses… She is my hero.

And this past weekend, I  finally found time to properly worship her as she so deserved . Although, I would definitely suggest to any of you out there who suffer from anything similar to my "there’s a stranger breathing on me and he didn’t even buy me a drink" syndrome not to venture out to the theater on a Friday night in a town where the weekend to-do for every teenager within a hundred miles is to put on her mother’s hooker heels and glitter eyeliner, catch a movie, and then parade around the local Wal-Mart. It makes for really long lines in the bathrooms.

As for the movie, itself:

I laughed. I cried. I drooled… a lot. (They gave them guitars, for Pete’s sake.) It was cute, and fun, and endearing and well worth my "Get Out of The House for Free" card.  And now I find myself in the rather ridiculous position of being the person that actually says with a straight face:

Skip the book; they’ve got a movie.