A languid, thinly sketched and habitually
unfunny supernatural comedy that never scratches beyond the surface of its
conceit, Over Her Dead Body quickly
wears out its welcome in both this world and the next. Delving into a love
triangle comprised of a pleasant guy, the psychic who falls for him and the
former’s vengeful, deceased fiancé trying to keep them apart, the movie works
neither in the vein of an exaggerated, farcical romantic rivalry, a la Death Becomes Her, or a more traditional
romantic comedy. With 27 Dresses still in theatres and performing strongly, and the more
high-profile pairing of Matthew McConaughey and Kate Hudson swooping in the
following weekend in the adventure comedy Fool’s Gold, anything beyond a final
haul of $30-40 million domestically would represent Over Her Dead Body
drastically outperforming its worth.

A year after his tightly wound bride, Kate
(Eva Longoria Parker), is crushed by a falling ice sculpture on their wedding day,
veterinarian Henry (Paul Rudd) gets roped into seeing a psychic by his well-meaning
younger sister Chloe (Lindsay Sloane), who just wants to restore some easygoing
normalcy to her mopey brother’s life. The initial reading with Ashley (Lake Bell), a psychic
who also runs a catering company with her gay best friend, Dan (Jason Biggs),
doesn’t reveal anything, leaving Henry more skeptical than ever. Not easily
deterred, though, Chloe steals the late Kate’s diary and gives it to Ashley, so
she can use the private information to pretend to communicate with Kate’s
ghost, and thus “release” Henry from obligation. As Ashley begins to slowly fall for Henry,
and vice versa, a disgruntled Kate reveals herself, and stakes a possessive
claim on her former fiancé. Gamesmanship ensues, as Ashley — the only one who
can see and hear Kate — alternately fights for and considers ceding Henry to
the spectre of his vengeful ex.

The directorial debut of Jeff Lowell, an
episodic television writer who also penned 2006’s John Tucker Must Die, Over
Her Dead Body is a movie of phony raucousness. Owing to the small screen roots
of its creator, the tone veers wildly from scene to scene; comedy writ large
and obvious (hapless Dan creating a mess in the kitchen in slapstick fashion,
Kate making sounds of mock-flatulence that she believes Ashley will mistake for
Henry) rules the day. Absent a laugh-track, though, the staleness of these gags
reveals itself.

The staging is frequently awkward, from the
opening scene of Chloe and Henry’s introduction to Ashley (in which Dan implausibly
remains in the kitchen, in order to lamely conceal his identity for a joke
later in the film) to a hallway-set scene involving the revelation of Kate’s
diary. Dialogue, too, is frequently stilted and wooden; many scenes seem
comprised of placeholder jokes, given no sort of additional subtlety or
shading.

Despite the film’s billing, Bell is essentially
the female lead. Yet the “combative spat” portion of the conceit — potentially
the richest comedic terrain — is hazily defined, and Longoria Parker’s Kate
isn’t very well integrated into the movie as a whole. She comes and goes,
haphazardly. Additionally, there’s no soft side to Kate to make us see she and
Henry as a legitimate couple in the first place.

Points go to Lowell and the film’s makers
for rounding up capable comedic actors (Sloane, Stephen Root, et al) for some
of the movie’s bit supporting parts, but the script consistently lets them
down. It takes ill-conceived, cardboard-thin stereotypes and somehow makes them
worse. Even a big story reversal at the end of the second act fails to give the
film any punch. Because nothing about the characters or any of their
relationships is in the least way believable, even in any world of heightened
affect, the ludicrous twist falls painfully flat.

Longoria Parker trades on the broadly
conveyed arch indignation that serves her well on the small screen, but
otherwise brings nothing new to her character. Similarly, Rudd is left to
define Henry solely through sardonic parrying. That brings us to Bell, who has big
parts — opposite Colin Farrell and Edward Norton in Pride and Glory, and
Cameron Diaz and Ashton Kutcher in What Happens in Vegas — looming on the
horizon. Here she displays affability and an admirable willingness to indulge
in pratfall hijinks, but there’s absolutely no palpable romantic chemistry with
Rudd, and her canted, slightly off-center interpretation seems more ideally
suited to secondary lead roles.
For the full, original, slightly longer review, from Screen International, click here.