A True Proficient

If I should write romantic comedy film scripts, I should be a true proficient; for I doubt anyone has as good a natural taste as I.

So says Lady Catherine de Bourgh from Pride and Prejudice, though, to be fair, she’s talking about playing the pianoforte.

The sentiment, however, holds true. I am a true romance fan. I could quite safely assume that half – or more than half – of my substantial DVD collection (and yes, I do still have a player that works) is romance, if not romantic comedy. I watch them all indiscriminately: the questionable Netflix Christmas movies, the teen romances, the period dramas and the romantic comedies that are actually well-written.

But you cannot dispute the fact that in recent years (okay, since the 90s, there, I’m old) romantic comedies have declined in quality. Significantly.

Let’s take my marathon from last night as an example:

1.      Leap Year

2.      About Time

3.      When Harry Met Sally

Undoubtedly, the films increased in quality as the night wore on, and though I thoroughly enjoyed Leap Year (mostly because of the delicious Matthew Goode) I was left feeling somehow dissatisfied. The characters were not developed enough; the dialogue uninteresting. The plot, after the initial interest of Amy Adams preparing to propose marriage to her boyfriend in Ireland on February 29, was quite literally a series of cliches throwing two Elizabeth/Darcy-like characters together in awkwardly amusing situations.

The most dissatisfaction is gained from the ending, where the unlikely romance that has been such a cliched joy to watch blossom suddenly becomes a rushed marriage.

Call me unromantic (actually don’t, because, ouch) but I can’t help but feel cheated when characters decide to get married when they’ve known each other for such a short time (it’s hard to say, being a movie and all, but in this case it was easily under 1 month from meeting for the first time and the proposal). I, and I feel most audiences (the sensible ones, at least), would infinitely prefer the certainty and solidity of a long-developed attachment over a whirlwind romance culminating in what can only be described as a hastily-formed commitment.

About Time was infinitely preferable, and, though Domnhall Gleeson is perhaps a little less droolworthy (sorry), his character is so well-developed (and so adorable!) that one ends the film rather wishing he were sat on the couch next to one. To account for this film being more pleasing than the first, I suggest it is at least in part because the audience is able to see a genuine attachment – perhaps helped along by the excellent chemistry between the two actors – but for my part I believe it is mostly the scripting. I do not feel cheated in watching this film; I feel envious of the relationship portrayed on screen. And what else is the point of a romance, I ask you?

However, the dissatisfaction that occurs from watching this is in fact the defining premise of the entire film: that the charming male lead can travel through time.

Such a fantastical plot device has no place in a romantic comedy. How is one to put oneself in the position of the female lead if one is constantly faced with one’s partner entering a dark closet and travelling back through time? What a preposterous notion!

Which brings us to the finale of the evening, and quite possibly the greatest romantic comedy of all time: When Harry Met Sally. Nora Ephron is pure genius.

This film has it all: the Darcy/Elizabeth initial dislike that gradually evolves into true love; the humorous and awkward encounters; the delight of watching a man on screen look at a woman that way; interesting dialogue that balances on the edge of light-hearted and philosophical… One only wishes for a slightly more attractive male lead – but, then, he wouldn’t be Harry, so one shouldn’t complain.

The true delight in this film is the sheer believability of the characters, of their emotions, their actions and their ultimate realisations (a point at which, naturally, the female lead arrives first). One ends the film wistfully, wishing that one could experience a connection as perfect as that portrayed by Billy Crystal and Meg Ryan. Or, if one is lucky, one ends the film delighting in the knowledge that they have that connection already, and merely remembering with fond nostalgia the blossoming of that connection and (with perhaps a little regret) the knowledge that they have found their match and will therefore never again experience the raptures of an unfurling relationship.

And so, dear reader, I return to my point. If I should write romantic comedy film scripts, I should return us to the days of believability, of connection. If I should write romantic comedies, I should be a true proficient.

-- A. Nelson, ca. 2014

(Current-day note: Too bad I dropped out of Write for Film and TV because my lecturer didn’t appreciate the humour in my first assignment.

Guess I’d better stick to novels.)