What would you do to win back a former love who, in actually fact, you still long to be with? Build up a bit of Dutch courage with a few bevvies and drunk-dial the ex declaring your undying devotion? Send a bouquet of impressively plumed flowers with a Hallmark-issue, sickly-sweet poem penned by your own fair hand attached? Hire an expensive plane to trail the skies with a to-the-point message advertising to all and sundry, but most of all to the paramour who got away, just where your heart lies?

Or would you just do what I would do and simply tell the object of your desire how you feel and see what the reaction is? Granted, I’d more than likely sink a few Sherries beforehand like the drunk-dialling option, but I’m a simple soul and, in truth, can’t be arsed to wander all round the houses. I’d much rather charge in all bulldozers blazing and demolish the lot. Far quicker and far more succinct. At least you’ll know exactly where you stand.

That’s obviously not the love life philosophy of Paul (Benjamin Lutz), the protagonist of The Love Patient, who instead of just telling his ex, the buff Brad (John Werskey), that he still wants to be with him and his pecs decides to pretend to have cancer to regain his love, which I guess makes him less of a protagonist and more of a gigantic asshat antihero or as Paul himself puts it “a buffoon”. When Brad inevitably discovers Paul’s deception he’s a little more caustic in his assessment as he grabs him by the collar and spits that he’s “horrible… cruel, a heartless, pathetic excuse for a human being. And I hate you!” Oops, plan backfire.

To be honest, considering I am seriously ill – HIV with all its myriad complications in case you’re curious – I’m actually quite laissez-faire towards people who porky-pie about being poorly because, to my mind, they are seriously ill, just not physically. However, if you’re expecting an exploration of the deep psychological whys and wherefores of lying about a potentially fatal disease – and more and more people seem to be doing just that in real, true life if the good, old Daily Mail is anything to be believed – this film is not the place to find answers because slapsticky, zany comedy is more the ticket here.

I know, I know. Cancer and screwball comedy hardly skip along happily hand in hand together, but the film is more in the John Waters mould of treacle-black humour that is the absolute opposite of kitchen-sink naturalism. OK, it’s not even in the same ballpark subversion-wise – there’s definitely no dog shit eating as Divine did for real (not enough ewws in the world) in Waters’ iconic Pink Flamingos and no multiple murdering suburban mother as dementedly depicted by Kathleen Turner in his Serial Mom – but there are distinct nods to the Waters oeuvre.

Take the acting. No realistic, reined-in, subtle performances required here. No, siree. Size matters and the bigger the better as far as the playing is concerned. The showy, look-at-me approach is actually harder to pull off than you think because you can quite easily stray from knowingly broad and eccentrically brash into do-you-want-eggs-with-that-ham? Scooby-Doo territory, but all the cast manage to keep from becoming too unbelievably cartoonish. All the actors are slick, but worthy of individual shoutouts are Lutz who portrays the dastardly Paul with just the right dash of likeability and lovability to make us care for his morally dubious character – which is just as well as the entire premise of the film wouldn’t hold up otherwise – and Madison Gray as Paul’s equally morally dubious sister Stephanie, who hilariously chews up the scenery in every frame she’s in.

The lightness of the cinematography in contrast to the darkness of the narrative is also very Waters, as is the score that plink-plonks noisily over it creating the impression that all is well when in actuality there is barely suppressed insanity suppurating all over the shop. And that’s the biggest comparison to The King Of Kitsch – the mania that runs through the film like marrow through a bone. My major complaint, though, is that it doesn’t quite up the quirk quota high enough and plays it too safe to ever be considered truly outthere transgressive. Like Waters’ later work, there isn’t enough shock’n’awe to pose any questions that deserve to be really pondered, viz when Paul asks, “Why does it take someone lying on their deathbeds to confess their true feelings, to discover what’s real?”, which as questions go is one of Life’s Biggies, but it’s dealt with in such a Disney-simplistic way it not only undermines any serious point it may want to make, but underestimates the audience, too.

The Love Patient isn’t perfect. For a comedy the laughs are more sporadic than consistent, plus the pacing is ropey on occasion. That said, the film is big on entertainment, engaging turns and is crazily kooky enough to hold the attention for an hour and a half. All that and there’s a fuzzily sweet love story at the film’s core that will warm the cockles of anyone’s heart. Even mine. An impressive feature debut from writer/director Michael Simon, just don’t confuse it with that drippy schmaltz-fest The English Patient.

Click for the full summary including verdict, synopsis, trailer and queer ratings.

The Love Patient [2011]
Studio: TLA Releasing
Released: 23 January 2012
ASIN: B0062NXEN4

Buy The Love Patient online now and save.