Love Hate
On Hating ‘Love Actually’
The beloved holiday film represents everything bad about England
I would like to say that I hate Love Actually, but the truth is that no word I possess — hate, contempt, loathing, disgust — can properly capture my rejection of this film. It’s like the onset of food poisoning: The mention of the film or the sight of the DVD on somebody’s shelf at a party or the promos for Christmas reruns now that it’s established as a classic, provoke a short, sharp spasm in me, a paroxysm of my whole being, followed by a lingering, draining malaise. The existence of Love Actually makes me like Christmas less, and I love Christmas. That others seem to enjoy it makes me think less of the world. And, worst of all, I don’t know where all this revulsion comes from. It’s just a movie after all.
Love Actually is objectively a very bad movie, but that explains nothing. The world is full of bad movies. Besides, I don’t believe in hating movies, no matter how bad. Honest critics can find a movie stupid or dishonest or boring or shoddily made or politically dubious. But hatred? That’s just a sign of something missing in yourself. If you hate Marvel movies, you’re probably just not in the target demographic. If you mock Tyler Perry movies, you’re really just mocking the people those movies are made for.
