“It’s all gone. Let’s get drunk”
There’s something hugely likeable about the amount of fun The Love Punch is. It is at times ridiculous and downright barmy but it always has such a cheerfully warm-hearted glow – no doubt helped by the French Riviera sunshine – that made it an irresistible silly pleasure to watch. Emma Thompson and Pierce Brosnan play a (relatively) amicably divorced couple whose retirement nest egg has been smashed by a hostile takeover of his company and its pension scheme by an avaricious French hotshot. So naturally they set about trying to get revenge.
And it is this wonderfully batty scheme that makes up the most of the movie. After spotting that the Gallic gazumper (a tragically beardless Laurent Lafitte) has purchased a vastly expensive diamond to give to his fiancée, Kate and Richard decide to steal it in retribution, calling on friends and neighbours Penelope and Jerry as they impersonate Texans, infiltrate hen parties and weddings, and don wetsuits and climbing gear to break into a private residence, amongst a ton of other unlikely activities. But Joel Hopkins imbues everything with such warmth and not a hint of seriousness, it’s best just to crack open a can of Kronenbourg and enjoy the ride.
There are of course no surprises in either Thompson or Brosnan’s performances, their gift for light comedy a joy to behold even when the writing is at its thinnest. But the real pleasure comes from Celia Imrie and Timothy Spall as the friends and cohorts, the Jack and Karen to the Will and Grace, as they repeatedly get the best lines, visual gags and rare moments of emotion. A big warm hug of a movie.