Remember recent movies like "What Dreams May Come" or "Constantine" that attempted to replicate visions of heaven and hell?
Particularly in contrast with the detail-rich 1970s suburbia “The Lovely Bones” depicts, its heaven is an airy play-scape that morphs in color and form like the innards of a lava lamp -- recollecting the afterlife depicted in Vincent Ward’s groundbreaking, under-seen “What Dreams May Come.”
The afterlife lends itself too easily to treacly kitsch—remember Robin Williams in What Dreams May Come ?
“The Lovely Bones,” on the other hand, is a far more delicate construction that derived most of its power not from the story it was telling, which was essentially a mash-up of “Mystic River” and “What Dreams May Come,” but from the voice that Sebold used to tell it.
The effect of it is that when Jackson isn't fucking around with his misguided period noodling, he's fucking around in a What Dreams May Come computer-generated fantasia--the two settings having no real connection to one another save their mutually ironclad dedication to avoiding anything of gravity.