Within the first 15 minutes of Richard LaGravenese's tepid romantic comedy, swarthy Irish musician Gerry Kennedy (Butler) dies, leaving behind his wife Holly (Swank) to contemplate a bleak future.

This involves moping around their Manhattan apartment, screeching along to Judy Garland and The Man That Got Away from A Star Is Born, amidst an ever-growing tide of discarded fast food cartons and dirty laundry.

Gerry's passing - a brain tumour - is supposed to be a deeply emotional moment in P.S. I Love You, adapted from the novel by Cecelia Ahern.

But it's a relief that the leading man has snuffed it. Seldom has one character been so irritating in so little time.

There's no sexual chemistry with two-time Oscar winner Swank, who squanders her talents in a thankless role.

The next two hours of LaGravenese's syrupy yarn rely on us mourning Gerry and the eternal happiness he would have brought Holly. Her suffering is eased by the arrival of a series of letters, in which Gerry instructs her to face her fear of karaoke, throw out his clothes and visit the Emerald Isle with gal pals Sharon (Gershon) and Denise (Kudrow).

Meanwhile, back in New York, secret admirer Daniel (Connick Jr), who suffers from a condition that compels him to tell the truth, hopes the heartbroken heroine might glance his way.

P.S. I Love You is saccharine, emotionally manipulative tosh.