okay. lets have a talk. let's hunker down (i've always loved that word) at the table and have a sleeves-rolled halfway, tie-askew, glass-jar-full-of-sharpened-pencils to-go-along-with-the-yellow-lined-legal-pads-of-paper, "jeannie, hold all my calls--it's gonna be a long night" talk. call me a cynic. go ahead...i'll wait. okay, there is a REASON why the romantic movies are engineered the way they are. the audience gets a washroom attendant's view of the protagonist aaaaaaaaaaaaagonizing over his or her lost love. we get to see the soul-searching, questioning, rationalizing, second guessing, finally having an epiphany, then heading for his beloved at breakneck speed. sidenote: why are these montages always set to the tune of bands like snow patrol and sheryl-fucking-crow? my pain always feels like a tom waits set after he has been touring for six months and living on a diet of cigarettes, bourbon, grey flannel, and nostalgia...
...but i digress.
once our protagonist reaches his destination, seemingly not able to spot his love until she is RIGHT in front of him, he stands breathlessly, and delivers what will no doubt be the impassioned speech that is equal parts "i know i was an idiot, but..." and "you have no reason to trust me..." and "but we can't deny this feeling inside...", mixed with a pinch of self-effacement and breath-holding hope. of COURSE the intended has a moment of hesitation...perhaps we even have to wait an entire scene's length before she hilariously declares, "i love you too, you idiot!" (insert sigh, tear-wipe, and head-shaking-"it's so true!"-giggle here)
aaaaaaaaaaaand...credits. we don't get to see what happens later. we don't get to see the argument about his farting in bed. we aren't privy to his reaction the first time she calls him "just like his father". and there is no way we'll be witness to the first time he can't get an erection because he's been fantasizing about the barista at starbuck's and is CONVINCED that she found out somehow. such a movie wouldn't sell, of course, because we all neeeeeeed to believe that just the epiphany is enough. it isn't, and this is why i always feel so...so...deflated after a romantic movie. i know that the wry smile and turn of phrase are not enough to sustain a carbonated heart. i am painfully aware of the fact that loving "what's inside" isn't enough either if one grows to find the exterior repugnant.
however...
the palimpsest left behind by a story left unfinished 10 years ago has sneaked up behind me, slipped the mask over my nose and mouth, and sent me ether-tumbling backwards into an age when daisies could dictate romantic success based on an odd or even number of petals. the montage is "heartbeats" by jose gonzalez, "transatlantique" by beirut, "run" by hal hartley...look it up.
today's word of the day is peregrinations, for reasons obvious to some.
Isn't it obvious? The romantic movie needs to be...romantic. Just like the war movie needs to be heroic (or, in the case of Hollywood circa 2010, it needs to make you feel ashamed to be an American).
ReplyDeleteIn short, we don't really want to know about the happily ever after - we're satisfied with the happily part.
If one takes the cynic's view, we sort of know that real love is not John Cusack standing in the rain playing a one-hit-wonder. We know John is going to eventually lose his hair, and that Ione Skye is going to put on a couple of pounds. This of course will happen long after they've both had one too many fights about what movie to see or whether to go to Applebees, again, and moved on to someone else.
The truth is, we want the cameras to hold up a mirror to the world, but just not too closely, thanks.