Why I Don’t Like Romcoms

If you read this blog, you know that I am not a fan of the romantic comedy genre. I get reflexively judged as snobbish for saying this, so I would like to take a few moments to explain my reasoning.

1. The Movie Is Always Better

When you think of great romantic stories, you will inevitably include movie characters. Harry and Sally. Rhett and Scarlett. Jack and Rose. That’s because movies are uniquely suited for this type of story. Chemistry is vicarious and it works best through actors. The stories also lend themselves to short form. It shouldn’t take six hours for a couple to kiss. You shouldn’t have to waste time on filler subplots. A few hours is a great formula for finding love.

2. The Outcome Is Obvious

Strictly speaking, all fictional outcomes are obvious. The hero will undergo a journey from innocence to experience. A mystery will be solved. An emotional conflict will resolve. That’s storytelling. However, the outcomes of romantic comedies are particularly plain. I can think of only one romcom in which the ending does not involve the two leads getting together. (It’s My Best Friend’s Wedding.) Fans will say it’s all about the pleasure of the journey and they’re right. That’s why I prefer ninety-minute packaging.

3. The Story Is A Lie

The theory of hedonic adaptation had obliterated any credibility this genre has. Social scientists have observed that all people experience an adjustment to good fortune at about the eighteen-month mark, making the sustainment of romantic bliss impossible. You can either accept the change or become a serial monogamist, switching partners every few years to maintain your high. Those are the options.

And while no one is denying that falling in love is sublime, perpetuating the idea that it’s inevitable and true is dishonest. As Anne Lamott says, “Relationships are hard work, after the first trimester.”

My book this week, The Love Hypothesis, embodies the three precepts above and a few more. Olive is a Stanford neuroscience grad student who has never been in a relationship. For convoluted reasons that defy credibility, she randomly kisses Adam, a universally disliked instructor. For his own reasons, he agrees to pose as Olive’s faux boyfriend for a few weeks. The premise could not be more sitcommy, including their weekly Starbucks dates to establish visibility.

When Olive is betrayed by a sexist colleague, Adam transforms into a hero. None of this is terribly believable, and I found myself wondering if a well-produced Netflix adaptation might make it more compelling.

There is also the stock gay best friend, and the mythically tight bond of friendship. These are standard romcom tropes and could use some freshening.

I did like Olive, though. It was nice to read about a woman scientist and I found her romantic insecurities charming. The best part of the book is a consent-heavy love scene which elevates the material and hints at what the author could do if she broke out of this limited genre.