Instead I offer you this dire warning. If you are of a remotely sane nature, please ensure that before you see this film, you check with your health insurance provider that you're covered from strokes, brian anuerysms and minor heart failure, directly caused by or relating to (but certainly not limited to):

* - Glorification of the human race's inability to interpret their counterparts' most basic movements on a daily basis, and their ensuing inability to cope with life as a result.
* - Basic inability to interpret Jane Austen novels into a film script
* - A hammering home of the films' main message so many times, you check your temple for whether or not you now have "Bunnings" imprinted in your skull at the end of the film.

The nicest thing I can offer about this film, is that it is, by nature, the antithesis of Love Actually. Every last feel-good bit of Love Actually, it's ensemble, it's various messages about life as we know it, are now ruined by this festering turd offered by the citizens of Bizarro World. At worst, the best you can hope for is to pray that somewhere around 20 minutes into this film, it strangely without reason, segues into a period piece on World War Two-era Germany, and a horde of SS troops storm the set, and mistake the entire cast for Anne Frank, and incinerate them all, leaving no trace of them, and their film having ever existed.

Somewhere in between, lies the unnerving knowledge, that the most likeable/bearable cast member in the entire film, is Ben Affleck. Ben Affleck. The same guy, who, if you found him wandering around in the background of an Al-Qaeda home movie, decapitating your entire family, you'd still feel slightly enamoured by the Santa Claus beard and the dialysis machine of that other angry guy instead.

As I allude to above, this film isn't a celebration of our wacky wins and losses in the game of love. It's a collaboration of society's most common psychotic acts perpetrated against the opposite sex dressed up in a cute little bow, to the point where you have no choice but to view Vagina as a terminal disease, rather than a gender by the end of the film. Whilst these acts of love sickness are true to life, the repercusions of these, highlighted by the film's lack of restraining orders, are far from it.

Those responsible for writing the screenplay, should also be banned from their local Starbucks, so that they at least have no reason to read another Jane Austen book again. The purpose of Jane Austen reaches far beyond the simple concept that out of a complicated love story, the situation is solved by the male character being simply marginalized into the role of "villian" in the space of the final ten minutes, and those who use the good name of Mr. Darcy to act out their Daddy issues on screen should never be allowed to get a movie deal ever again as a result of their failure to understand this.

Whilst having a film's message imbedded into my skull was pleasant enough. The realisation that it was never once fully touched on in the film was equally as annoying. Congratulations, Captain Obvious, people want what they can't have, and as such are unhappy or unsatisfied with what they can have. Now explain to me again, why I'm supposed to hate Brad Cooper's character for failing to turn down a half naked Scarlet Johansson, in favour of Jennifer Connelly's whingy bitch-poster child for domestic violence-wish she'd just raid Nicole Kidman's botox cupboard once in a while character?

At this point, I feel it also worth noting that the director of this film was also responsible for such cinematic icons as "Dunston Checks In" and "Beautician & The Beast". It's things like this that make me realise how short a period of time that 8 years can be, when you realise it was the period of time between films after B&TB, that he was actually given film work again. Another 8 years would go down very well.

You have to ask yourself what you will get out of going to see a film. For me, whilst feeling like a mild stroke victim after having seen this film, I still feel mentally stronger for having done it. Whether or not I'm strong enough to cope with a sequel however, is long out of the question. For those who may read this review, you will not feel any better about your particular philosophies to dating and romance, you will not feel any better about the opposite sex, you will probably not want to see any future films starring any cast member of this film ever again, nor will you be entertained. You will however, scratch your head a lot, as the plot goes in one direction, then suddenly decides it's not working out, and then goes in the complete opposite direction with no explanation offered whatsoever (case in point, the final scene featuring Affleck and Aniston).

Hopefully, however, you will not be as analytical of the film as I am, and wonder why no-one has ever realised that every film Jennifer Aniston has been in since her break up from Brad Pitt has been a poor attempt at catharsis, that only ends up making more and more people think she's not all there. That's my spot as a Hollywood therapist. Not yours.