Recently married and scraping the bottom of the barrel for movies — yep, Eva Langoria is now officially a desperate housewife. Oh, and check out the Oompa-Loompa complexion with that Tangerine Dream spray tan. Any oranger and she could be a spokeswoman for Tropicana.
Over Her Dead Body is a tired hunk of film. It starts wheezing and ends wheezing, a dogged journey for this asthmatic stinker. You might be inclined to like it, but don’t forget that February is a notoriously wretched movie month that studios usually shovel with junk unworthy of the other 11 months.
It’s at this point I am required by cinema law to inform anyone who might still be reading that Over Her Dead Body is a romantic comedy, which means that if you’ve ever enjoyed a romantic comedy, or ever found yourself fascinated with the shagginess and shape of Hugh Grant’s hair, you will enjoy this one no matter what I tell you about it. I could say it kicks kittens, or headbutts clergymen, or lights daycare centers on fire and you’ll still line up for tickets. At least you’re loyal, I’ll give you that. Langoria, who I’ve already mentioned, is a TV star. It shows here as she plays, with the dexterity of a file cabinet, a wedding planner so vile that she assaults the serving staff for the placement of gravy boats and napkin holders. I’m surprised the chefs don’t cheer when she is crushed to death by an ice sculpture in the first five minutes. Langoria, who is much prettier in real life than in this movie, plays Kate, a chirpy bimbo. Correction: a chirpy, dead bimbo.
A year later, her boyfriend, Henry (good-guy Paul Rudd, Knocked Up), falls in love with Ashley (Lake Bell), a psychic who might have made contact with Kate from beyond the grave. Henry and Ashley seem cute together, and they seem to be well on their way to eternal bliss, but then Kate, in the form of a ghost dressed in elegant whites, shows up to distress Ashley in hopes that Henry is lonely and miserable and single forever. Misery may love company, but it says nothing of Kate, who is willing to spend her days in purgatory just to prevent Henry from loving again. Some girlfriend, huh? 
Like most romantic comedies, the characters are from a manila file folder marked with “Stock rom-com characters.” Consider the beautiful Ashley, with her exotic profession, cozy pad and penchant for doing cute things in her bra and panties. Then there is the gay roommate, who dispenses sage advice at opportune times. Apparently, gay males have no life until a hot, single woman is sobbing in their arms. Kate is the neurotic, fast-talking tart who needs to be put in her place. 
These are stock characters, but Rudd’s Henry threw me. He’s very funny — hilarious even — in every misstep the movie makes. His lines could even be considered classics in a slightly better film. When the girls deflect their rage onto each other, Rudd somehow stays sane and grounded. It helps that he plays it almost entirely straight, even as the script falls back on cheap slapstick and flatulence jokes. At one point, a skit with an obese dog is popped into the script that will make you ponder the profession of veterinarians. Rudd aside, though, Over Her Dead Body is filled with bland, overacted dialogue and stale formulas. Regarding ghost-movie clichés: I swear here and now I will chuck nacho cheese at the screen the next time a living character has a conversation with an invisible dead character in public. The film also seems poorly made. Notice the dodgy dialogue dubbing of the scene in the supermarket. Apparently, someone forgot to turn the microphones on that day.
This is TV director Jeff Lowell’s first feature film, and it shows, but not as bad as it does for Langoria, who couldn’t act her way out of a spray-tan booth, which probably explains her ghastly color. Rudd, though, really shines considering the material has been done to death … and back again.
