How romantic comedies shifted from the tux-wearing 1%, to the Meg-Ryan yuppie, to the hipster poverty line
By Meredith Haggerty
Illustrations By Mark Nerys
Illustrations By Mark Nerys
Romantic comedies are about
a lot of things: meet-cutes, misunderstandings, rain-soaked
declarations of love, pratfalls, sassy and put-upon best friends,
steady-but-boring boyfriends who aren’t as compelling as the hero,
unexpected run-ins, makeover montages, grand gestures, glamorous careers
that leave plenty of time for hijinks, highly detailed speeches about
lovable quirks, and sometimes—if we’re lucky—a musical number. At their
big, gushy heart, however, they’re about one thing: female wish
fulfillment. There’s the wish that the girl and (usually) the boy will
overcome the adorable obstacles and fall in love, of course. But there’s
also the wish that everyone will look and feel fantastic doing it. In
real life, these levels of fantasticness usually cost a lot of money. So
how does money function in romantic comedy?
Over
the years, rom-coms have evolved; by design, they reflect the gender
politics and social concerns of the day, even when they’re attempting to
provide an antidote to them. The screwball comedies of the ’30s gave
way to musicals of the ’60s leading eventually to the high-concept Meg
Ryan-y blockbusters of the ’90s. In 2014, the traditional romcom hasn’t
exactly died, but it’s mostly moved, to television and independent film.
And while TV’s crop looks a whole lot like the ’90s-era ones with
upwardly mobile attractive people, the indie rom-coms reflect an indie
sensibility: namely, that broke-ass people can fall in love, too.
Here’s a look at the evolution of the rom-com, via your wallet:
The Screwball 1930s
My Man Godfrey
For Love: Wealthy
Irene Bullock (Carole Lombard) comes across a “forgotten man” named
Godfrey (William Powell) and hires him to be her spendthrift family’s
butler, promptly falling in love with him.
Or Money: Thanks to secretly highborn Godfrey’s crafty investments, the Bullock family is saved from their reckless spending. Godfrey’s windfall is so great that it even allows him to open a swinging nightclub called The Dump, on the spot where he lived when he was homeless. This is where, in the last scene, Irene marries him against his will.
Or Money: Thanks to secretly highborn Godfrey’s crafty investments, the Bullock family is saved from their reckless spending. Godfrey’s windfall is so great that it even allows him to open a swinging nightclub called The Dump, on the spot where he lived when he was homeless. This is where, in the last scene, Irene marries him against his will.
Bringing Up Baby
For Love: Flighty
socialite Susan (Katharine Hepburn) falls for paleontologist David
(Cary Grant) and schemes to keep him from his imminent wedding by
involving him in the care and then the search for her brother’s leopard,
Baby.
Or Money: David goes along with Susan’s hijinks only because he wants her old-moneyed aunt to donate $1 million dollars to keep his museum open. In the end, the aunt gives the money to Susan, who in turn gives it to David as they declare their love for each other. Fun fact: Today that $1 million would be equal to about $17 million.
Or Money: David goes along with Susan’s hijinks only because he wants her old-moneyed aunt to donate $1 million dollars to keep his museum open. In the end, the aunt gives the money to Susan, who in turn gives it to David as they declare their love for each other. Fun fact: Today that $1 million would be equal to about $17 million.
The Philadelphia Story
For Love: As
Tracy Lord (Katharine Hepburn), Philadelphia society girl, prepares for
her wedding to George Kitteridge, her ex-husband C. K. Dexter Haven
(Cary Grant) and newspaperman Macaulay “Mike” Connor (James Stewart)
show up to complicate matters.
Or Money: On the eve of her wedding, Tracy is torn between her self-made fiancé, her social-equal ex-husband, and a wealth-despising tabloid reporter whom she has only just met. In the end, even the poor newspaperman admits that Tracy’s ex-husband is a pretty great guy, while her jealous fiancé condemns Tracy, Dexter, and their “whole rotten class.”
Or Money: On the eve of her wedding, Tracy is torn between her self-made fiancé, her social-equal ex-husband, and a wealth-despising tabloid reporter whom she has only just met. In the end, even the poor newspaperman admits that Tracy’s ex-husband is a pretty great guy, while her jealous fiancé condemns Tracy, Dexter, and their “whole rotten class.”
During
a time (the Great Depression) when money was a devastating problem for
pretty much everyone, all three of these films feature heiresses who
don’t have to give it a second thought. Who knows how much Tracy
Lord — based on real-life Philadelphia railroad heiress Helen Hope
Montgomery Scott — was really worth. But it’s a decent guess her father
probably hit the $1 million tax bracket.
In both Baby and Godfrey,
beautiful, wealthy women are repeatedly rejected by the men they
pursue. Sure, okay, these guys just aren’t that into them. But, no
matter, because wealth has also given them the ability to be deeply
silly women with no regard for social rules, and thanks to their
entitlement and lack of common sense, they persist. While it may seem
retrograde (because, you know, it is) that these women are often
unfathomably stupid and subservient (Katharine Hepburn, acting a fool!),
it is actually only through their wealth and corresponding power—even
if that power comes from willful daftness—that they’re able to
manipulate their less well-off men. Wish fulfilled!
In The Philadelphia Story,
social order is restored when a high society woman nearly weds a
self-made man, but by breaking down the social(ist) defenses of a
muckraking reporter, she realizes it is her alcoholic, good old boy
ex-husband she truly loves. And honestly, it is super romantic. I mean,
Cary Grant! Still, not only wealth but class is the topic of this movie,
and how much of it the truly already-rich have. So, while absolutely
everyone is in love with the heiress—despite politics, despite
divorce—in the end she is able to reject the safe, stable choice and
even the romantic, impoverished choice and run off with the handsome,
super rich mistake she’s already made, back to the yacht they both loved
so much.
The Meg Ryan Era
(1989–1997)
Sleepless in Seattle
For Love: Journalist
Annie (Meg Ryan) hears architect Sam (Tom Hanks) on a radio call-in
show talking about his deceased wife, realizes her upcoming wedding to
allergic, awkward Walter (Bill Pullman) is lacking a certain “magic,”
and writes the stranger a letter proposing they meet at the Empire State
Building on Valentine’s Day.
Or Money: Sam is able to impulsively quit his job in Chicago at the start of the movie and move to Seattle, while Annie uses the cover of her job to pay for stalking Sam.
Or Money: Sam is able to impulsively quit his job in Chicago at the start of the movie and move to Seattle, while Annie uses the cover of her job to pay for stalking Sam.
Only You
For Love: When
destiny-obsessed Faith (Marisa Tomei—she’s no Meg Ryan but she might as
well be) is just a little girl, she asks a Ouija board for the name of
her soulmate, and it answers: Damon Bradley. Decades later, as her
wedding to her mild podiatrist fiancé approaches, a Damon Bradley calls
out of the blue. On impulse, she takes her best friend and sister-in-law
Kate (Bonnie Hunt, the perpetually underrated best friend and Judy
Greer of the ’90s) to Italy to track him down.
Or Money: Faith,
a teacher, and Kate, who is in school, take a last minute flight to
Venice, rent a car to drive to Rome, and stay in a series of lavish
hotels (including one Joan Collins stayed in) on Kate’s husband’s credit
card. At one point Faith suggests renting a truck with a loudspeaker.
You’ve Got Mail
For Love: Kathleen Kelly (Meg Ryan) and Joe Fox (Tom Hanks) are pen pals who met in an AOL chat room.
Or Money: Unbeknownst to either, Kathleen and Joe are business rivals—his Barnes & Noble-esque megastore is opening around the corner from the small children’s bookshop she owns.
Or Money: Unbeknownst to either, Kathleen and Joe are business rivals—his Barnes & Noble-esque megastore is opening around the corner from the small children’s bookshop she owns.
In Sleepless, Meg plays a journalist; one who uses her position at the Baltimore Sun Times to
finance the full-scale stalking of Tom Hanks’s Sam. She puts a
background check, a private eye, and a flight from Maryland to
Washington state on the paper. (Good to know: A journalist in Baltimore
in 1992 made about $31, 297, which today is approximately $53,098.05.)
How does her editor (Rosie O’Donnell) not yell at her for that? She
doesn’t even interview him, she just stares at him from the middle of
the street and then flies home. Meanwhile, Sam is able to pick up his
young son and move to a houseboat in an entirely new city. Very
reasonable choice! The film’s attitude toward money could probably be
summed up by one scene: Tom Hanks needs to steal a stranger’s cab to
chase his son, Jonah, to the Empire State Building. To get the cab, he
yells, “Money, all right? Money, money, money!” while throwing bills in
the air. Money: People want it and this can be annoying, but it’s
plentiful, never a problem to come by.
Only You, a
forgotten classic that I will hype forever even though Robert Downey
Jr.’s fast-talking charmer is named Mr. Wright, is awash in pricey grand
gestures. Faith’s expenditures include a spur-of-the-moment flight to
Venice, a rental car, multiple gorgeous hotel rooms in different cities,
and a handful of dinners in lovely, expensive restaurants. Also, on her
teacher’s salary—$35, 813 in 1992,
about $57,520.95 today—she apparently already had a wardrobe full of
stunning, often-backless gowns. Her Mr. Wright is a lower-level shoe
salesman who: gifts a woman who already rejected him a pair of fancy
shoes (not knockoffs); hires an actor at the last minute in a country
he’s never been to; outfits said actor with a wig and gold medallion;
and rents hotel rooms for them both—in a hotel Joan Collins stayed in,
no less. The phone calls alone must have cost him a fortune. The
planning, the scheming, the cost!
Money
is just water in these films. It’s everywhere and therefore not
particularly notable, and this functions most strangely in You’ve Got Mail. In
the film, which is a flawless and charming example of the parallel
reality of rom-coms, Kathleen Kelly is being run out of business by Fox
Books. Of course, of course, this is their central conflict. But never
are finances mentioned. A small business owner was making about $47,064.78 in 1998
(about $68K today), but this impending closure is a tragedy for
sentimental reasons only: the loss of Kathleen’s store is equated to the
loss of her late mother—who founded it—and the loss of her beloved,
oddball employees. But unemployment, financial ruin: these things are
never on the table. She’s not in danger of losing the apartment she used
to share with her now-ex-boyfriend (double rent and no income, no
problem!) or any of her sweater sets. It’s also worth mentioning, that
in this film it is Tom Hanks’s father— not Tom Hanks—who owns the
houseboat. But of course, there is a houseboat.
Recession Romance (2013–Present)
Obvious Child
For Love: After
a devastating breakup, comedian Donna Stein (Jenny Slate) has a
one-night stand with finance guy Max (Jake Lacy), resulting in an
unwanted pregnancy. As Donna struggles with her upcoming abortion, Max
tries to prove himself to be a real candidate for her affections.
Or Money: Besides her breakup, Donna is also reeling from the closing of the bookstore where she works. Although she is attempting to make it as a commercial actress, she occasionally borrows money from her mother and has outstanding student loan debt. A struggling comic like Donna pulls in about $500 a year from standup, and about $20,000 from a part-time job. As such, her abortion is a financial hardship as well as an emotional one, although the particulars are not discussed.
Or Money: Besides her breakup, Donna is also reeling from the closing of the bookstore where she works. Although she is attempting to make it as a commercial actress, she occasionally borrows money from her mother and has outstanding student loan debt. A struggling comic like Donna pulls in about $500 a year from standup, and about $20,000 from a part-time job. As such, her abortion is a financial hardship as well as an emotional one, although the particulars are not discussed.
Enough Said
For Love: Eva
(Julia Louis-Dreyfus) meets Albert (James Gandolfini) at a party where
she also meets Marianne (Catherine Keener)—a new client, a new friend,
and Albert’s ex-wife.
Or Money: Eva works as a massage therapist after her divorce, and makes frequent comments on the fabulousness of other people’s homes, clothes, and lives. Meanwhile her best friend Sarah (Toni Collette) struggles with such issues as how to fire her maid.
Or Money: Eva works as a massage therapist after her divorce, and makes frequent comments on the fabulousness of other people’s homes, clothes, and lives. Meanwhile her best friend Sarah (Toni Collette) struggles with such issues as how to fire her maid.
What If
For Love: Wallace
(Daniel Radcliffe) meets Chantry (Zoe Kazan) at a party and falls for
her, before discovering she has a boyfriend. When she asks him to be her
friend, he says yes, determined to keep this fantastic woman in his
life, convinced they can be “just friends.”
Or Money: Wallace dropped out of medical school after a bad breakup, works a menial job, and lives with his sister. Chantry is a well-regarded designer, but resists a promotion thanks to a fear of change and success.
Or Money: Wallace dropped out of medical school after a bad breakup, works a menial job, and lives with his sister. Chantry is a well-regarded designer, but resists a promotion thanks to a fear of change and success.
In What If, Daniel
Radcliffe’s Wallace lives with his sister and Chantry relies on her
lawyer-boyfriend to fund their standard-issue gorgeous, rom-com
apartment. Neither have the high-powered careers of rom-coms past. In Enough Said,
Eva falls in middle-aged love with television historian Albertt, whose
ex-wife calls him a loser. That ex-wife is also Eva’s client and new
friend, Marianne, a wildly successful poet with a gorgeous house and
impeccable style and Catherine Keener’s face, hair, and cool-lady voice.
Meanwhile, Eva carries her massage table up steep staircases and deals
with her clients’ bad breath. She doesn’t want to be a loser, no matter
how much she might feel like one, so she finds herself picking at
Albert’s flaws and hiding her connection to him and Marianne.
Donna Stein (Jenny Slate), from this summer’s Obvious Child,
is younger than Eva and still working on a dream, but is nonetheless, a
bit of a “loser,” in standard movie terms. She’s unemployed (when the
bookstore she works in closes
down, it’s bad for the employees—for more than purely sentimental
reasons), saddled with student loan debt, and in need of $500 for an
abortion. She wears her roommate’s clothes and her mother’s shoes and
borrows money from her parents. Like the ’90s movies, Donna’s financial
situation is just the water, but now the water is boiling. Getting the
money for her abortion isn’t a plot point (does she borrow it from her
best friend, Sleepless in Seattle’s Gabby Hoffman? Her parents? Who knows.), but we are made to understand that it’s part of a growing financial burden.
So.
Are we less ambitious today, less interested in money and privilege?
Not if the ambitions and interests of these characters are any
indication—Eva never passes up an opportunity to covet and Donna plugs
away at her stand-up career, even during times when nothing seems funny.
In the end, even What If’s
Chantry takes the promotion she was so afraid of. These women don’t
already have it all; they are still trying, they are still on their way.
It’s not that women want less, we just want our fantasies to meet us
halfway.
The wish
being fulfilled in these movies isn’t rebooting entirely as a flighty,
irresponsible heiress or even determined small business owner, but
experiencing the thrill of the accidental run-in, the pain of that first
misunderstanding, and the joy of the big, corny “I love you” speech all
alongside our credit card debt and career struggles and pull-out
futons. The wish is being good enough already.
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