In "Just Like Heaven," Elizabeth (Reese Witherspoon) is near death and doesn't know it (which is similar but not parallel to the phenomenon I studied for my book "People Who Don't Know They're Dead"). While her physical body lay comatose in a neighborhood hospital, her spirit (astral) body haunts the flat where she used to live, which is now sublet to David (Mark Ruffalo). Elizabeth is having a near-death experience--well, of sorts.
"Just Like Heaven" may not aim to be more than a light-hearted romantic comedy (a genre I have great respect for, by the way). Still, its creators would have been better off to have trusted their impulse to set these events in the paranormal realm by proceeding to find out how things actually work there. There is physics to these metaphysics, and lots of recent research. Much of what they choose to do instead defies that research and undermines the story they are telling.
For starters, the way these characters meet-both screaming, beer spraying, each one hearing the other scream, each one seeing the other clearly-is contrary to everything I've read about such things. True, people see ghosts, but usually as ectoplasmic wisps or wraithlike figures floating through a blind spot out the corner of an eye. They don't ordinarily manifest with the three-dimensional density represented here by the well-lit Witherspoon.
And how does David even hear her scream? Yes, ghost lore is full of moans and groans heard in the night. But Elizabeth is not a ghost. She's the etheric body, the spiritual essence, of a woman being kept alive on a respirator whose larynx and voice box remain blocks away. So, how do these two engage in the lengthy conversations in what becomes a very talky movie?
In no near-death encounter I'm familiar with do those still in the body see or hear the one who is having the out-of-body experience. To hear her, to be aware of her at all, David would have to be psychic. There is no evidence of that. And, there is no indication that these conversations are in any way telepathic. In fact, a good deal of the comedy results from David talking out loud to the unseen Elizabeth in public.
In one inexplicable scene in a bar, David is seen to be furiously wrestling with himself to bring a whiskey glass to his lips as the invisible Elizabeth pushes him out the door.
When David finally asks the question I'd been asking myself--"Why am I the only one who can see you?"--the answer comes not from physics or from metaphysics, but from the conventions of romantic comedy. These are star-crossed lovers whose fates are intertwined in serpentine synchronicities to be revealed later on and upon which several important plot points twirl.
Elizabeth is a workaholic doctor who has been putting off her "real life." David has been living like the "walking dead" since his wife died in an accident two years ago. Elizabeth tells him when they finally bed down that "I think you are my unfinished business." David wakes up the following morning with a metaphor of his own: "I was the one who was dead. Now I know what I must do." And he does it.