The title, just so we're all clear, comes from an uncredited appearance by Peter Dinklage. He plays a male prostitute sent over to cancer patient Kate Hudson by her best gay purple-hat-and-pink-shirt-wearing friend Romany Malco (Think Like a Man). Dinklage calls himself "a little bit of heaven." Get it? Because he's a dwarf? And really, isn't that what we all do when our best pals become terminally ill: send hookers to their front door like a pizza they never ordered?
It gets weirder.
Cancer movies, when they try to be more than mere tearjerkers, are often very much like science fiction. They might exist in a real place like, say, Mars, but then they turn into something where talking aliens are chasing you with ray guns. The talking alien in this film is Whoopi Goldberg as God, who summons the whimsical, late-stage-colon-cancer diagnosed Kate up to a screen-saver-like land of fluffy clouds so she can explain that, before you die, you get to have three wishes. This sort of turns God into the Robin Williams genie from Aladdin, but whatever. And like any thinking human being, the first things Kate asks for are the ability to fly and a million dollars, leaving her with only one wish left, one she somehow fails to figure out needs to be HOWSABOUT I NOT DIE?
Instead, Kate plays fast and loose with Whoopi-God's wish-granting system, taking her sweet time before deciding that what she really wants is a quickie, pre-death affair with oncologist Gael Garcia Bernal (who shuffles around looking like he lost his way while driving to the set of the next decent Pedro Almodovar movie he should really be starring in). Together they montage themselves into ice cream eating, beach walks, one moment of chemo distress sans makeup, a whole lot of late-night clubbing with giant drag queens and even later nights of extreme-PG-13-bra-stays-on humping. Turns out that colon cancer fills you with boundless energy. Susan Sarandon in Stepmom, by contrast, has nothing on Cancer Kate. All that woman did was sit around, smoke medicinal weed and make quilts for the kids she was about to leave in the hands of Julia Roberts. Kate gets out there, salsa dances and gets super-laid.
Colon cancer also makes her drunkenly ride bicycles around town in her pajamas and say things like, "C'mon Doc, level with me." Because you can't lie to Kate. She's too real and life-loving to fall for things like hope and clinical trials and staying alive (she rejects medicine, all the better to keep her awesome hair). And for those of you who really want to see this monstrously stupid insult to people who actually die from cancer, please avoid the rest of the review because I'm about to spoil it. Okay? Here goes...
Kate's other best friend (Mad Men's Rosemarie Dewitt, whose underwritten character spends most of the movie avoiding her sick pal) gives birth a baby at the same moment as Gael Garcia Bernal finally says "I love you" to Kate. This is also the precise moment that Kate flatlines. It's how you end a movie after you've just watched Live's "Lightning Crashes" video and ingested hallucinogens. Then Kate goes to heaven with Whoopi-God where they drink little umbrella cocktails. At the same time, Kate also manages to be on the ground, dancing a short distance from a big gazebo where everybody she knows -- including her pet bulldog -- parties in a "celebration" of her life. There are streamers and a jazz band and more drag queens who cuddle up to Gael Garcia Bernal and everybody wears bright colors and they all sort of bounce around and raise their glasses.
Boom. Death. It's adorable.