It’s practically heresy to admit it in critical “cineaste” circles, but this is the truth: I like Romantic Comedies. When done well: There’s romance! There’s comedy! What’s not to like?
As a kid I had a thing for Cary Grant—who I of course felt I’d discovered—and fell in love with the classic Romantic Comedies from the 40’s. I could watch Bringing Up Baby or Holiday any day of the week. And when I discovered later examples of the genre—like the modern, whacked out and utterly delightful “homage” to Bringing Up Baby, Peter Bogdanovich’s What’s Up, Doc –I just continued hunting for nuggets of gold in the genre, through every decade. I loved Rock Hudson and Doris Day and George Segal and Barbra Streisand and Tom Hanks and Hugh Grant. And then… well… then. Oh. Oh, dear.
What’s happened to the Romantic Comedy? Particularly recently, a form that ached with sophistication in The Philadelphia Story, rippled with sexual tension in Pillow Talk, hilariously embraced neurosis in Annie Hall and flirted deliciously with technology in You’ve Got Mail (yes, itself a remake) has devolved into the silly, the ludicrous and the instantly forgettable. Whether it’s the string of shameful and shameless Katherine Heigl-in-a-hideous-bridesmaid-dress/vibrating-underwear-movies, or the shocking sameness of Friends with Benefits coming out only months after No Strings Attached, there’s no doubt Romantic Comedies have gotten pretty darned bad. There’s a lack of inventiveness (see that Friends/Strings business).
They’re not particularly funny (the “comedy” part seems to promise only that no one will die), they’re painfully formulaic (even down to casting; the “sassy friend”— the heroine’s less attractive workmate, the hero’s schlubby brother or anyone’s snarky “gay”—populates every single film). And they’re so familiar and reconstituted even the comfortably expected joy we should get out of the couple’s (re)union is undercut by the feeling we’ve been had. There’s nothing even slightly fresh or authentic going on, so why should we care whether or not the two pulchritudinous leads get together?
This isn’t news though; nearly every review of whatever latest failed Hollywood “Rom-Com” package is foisted upon us mentions how [insert film name here] is just another example of how debased and bastardized the genre has become.
But why do we hate the bad ones so much? Why do we get mad at the bad ones? Articles are written; people blog. But rarely does anyone write an article about how “bad” action movies have become. Is it because we give more of a pass to “boy popcorn” movies? (They’re not supposed to be smart?) Or because we think Romantic Comedies should be easy? They’re supposed to be formulaic, right? (Boy meets Girl, Boy Loses Girl, Boy Gets Girl; it’s a trope, dope.) And if it’s a formula—a recipe—why isn’t it easier to follow and create something good? If you follow a Julia Child recipe to the letter, you’re going to make a decent Boeuf Bourguignon. It should be easy, right? It isn’t. And sadly, the exact ingredient required to make a good Romantic Comedy is what eludes the Hollywood “system” at every turn: individuality. Quirk. A singular point of view.
Somehow, though of course many hands stirred the pot “cooking” movies during the legendary Hollywood Studio System, they managed to create more than a few gems. Sadly, the process now is so pernicious it manages to leech everything interesting and fresh out of script. I’ve heard more times than I can count, about another disappointing Romantic Comedy, “I read the first draft; it was actually good.” And knowing something of the “development” process of mainstream Hollywood movies, I think, basically, without a strong hand at the helm—a writer/director, often male, who can throw his weight around—any potentially engaging Romantic Comedy will be pulled and twisted and turned into crap.
Disturbingly, this seems to be all the more common when women are at the center of a script. Arguably, the best Romantic Comedies recently have been from the male point of view, whether it be Four Weddings and a Funeral or The 40-Year-Old Virgin. Guys are trusted; women, even as protagonists, aren’t. The kind of specificity that created Steve Carell’s virgin? I can’t imagine a heroine being afforded that level of idiosyncrasy. (Sample studio note: “She’s pathetic. Does she have to be so pathetic? Does she have to be forty? We won’t love her…”) In studio Romantic Comedies, women are funneled into typical binary states: Emotionally (Sexually) Repressed Career Gal vs. Party Girl Slut. Desperate Singleton vs. Shrewish Wife. Unless you’re making an independent film, a la Miranda July, your heroine better be easy to understand; a pretty cliché.
In addition, the process has somehow decided that this formula requires certain elements that have little or nothing to do with the sexual frisson, clever dialogue, engaging leads, and (somewhat) realistic romantic dilemmas that create the best Romantic Comedies. Every script needs “set pieces”—absurdist bits of physical comedy stretched beyond the bounds of good taste, actual humor and the laws of physics. For reasons I find utterly mysterious, well-written, humorous dialogue isn’t enough (cause that Noel Coward guy was just boring).
The protagonist—often the woman—must, at some point embarrass herself in a ridiculous outfit, in public, possibly covered in something unpleasantly fragrant. (Baby poo, anyone?) As best I can figure, this is necessary so there’s a “funny,” easy to digest scene to use in the commercial. Never mind that it often thoroughly undermines the character and punctures our suspension of disbelief. An even more depressing thought: Is it because somewhere deep down Hollywood studio executives don’t believe women are actually funny? She can’t make us laugh; we have to make her ridiculous so we can laugh at her.
To me, great Romantic Comedies are like Fred Astaire’s dancing: They’re beyond graceful. They defy gravity. They’re lighter than air. Astaire made it look easy and the best Romantic Comedies do too. So we think it should be easy. But it’s not, and you can’t package what makes them great. (And Hollywood is all about packaging.) The elements are seemingly simple, but they’re shades away from failure. Characters we can both relate to and laugh with; situations that are pushed just enough to be funny; sparkling dialogue from the mind of a singular talent. None of these things are easy to find or easy to create. You can’t legislate it.
When two leads really click, when you can’t bear for them to be apart, we say they have “chemistry”. That seems like science, but it isn’t; it’s magic. And magic is the one thing the Hollywood “development” process can’t harness, no matter how hard they try. And they do try, believe me. Unfortunately, the product they produce, in this potentially loveliest of genres anyway, is often just that: trying.
