I went on this rant last night, and I'll say it here again.
FedEx, your employer, calls you at the 11th hour on Christmas Eve to go on some cross-Pacific flight. You go, plane crashes, you wash on up on a ****ing island for four years, bury a pilot, knock out a tooth, learn to spear fish, make rope out of saplings and a sturdy big toe, make fire, befriend a ****ing volleyball, carve a calendar in a rock, find half a port-a-pody, build a raft, get past the breakers, lose your port-a-pody, lose your volleyball, give up hope, get rescued and find out that the love of your life went on to marry another man.
After ALL of that, the company that started you on this ****ed up journey that landed you in the middle of the ocean springs for a ****ing PLATTER OF SEAFOOD.
A better ending would've been Hanks telling FedEx to go **** itself at first sight of the crabs legs, kidnap his ex-wife and end with the two of them reinacting the Kama Sutra on the top of the Cherokee.
But that's just me.