The Grand Gesture

Starved of anything better to do on a recent Monday night, I found myself watching the romantic comedy, Must Love Dogs. A movie I vaguely recalled seeing previously and, while I wasn't glued to the screen, it kept me entertained in between channel surfing for something better.

I mostly enjoyed the movie as I am a huge Diane Lane fan, but found myself cringing at the end of the movie. Having decided that she really did 'want' John Cusack's character (Jake), Diane Lane's character (Sarah) goes to find him and discovers him to be out on his boat. Not content to merely wait on the dock for his return, she is apparently so desperate to see him that she hails a passing rowing crew to take her into the middle of the river to find him. Then, rather than paddling up to him, she leaps from the boat (along with the aforementioned and obligatory dog) and swims over to him. I could barely watch the scene as it was SO cheesy and (frankly) embarrassing to all concerned.

As I lay in bed later I found myself wondering why Directors or Writers feel compelled to include such scenes in an otherwise watchable movie, often destroying any credibility the film had engendered. As I pondered on this some other examples came to mind.

In How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days (a very ordinary movie made bearable only by the eye candy care of Matthew McConaughey), the guy (on his motorbike) goes chasing after the girl (in a taxi) amidst traffic on some bridge somewhere. Accompanied, I am sure, by appropriately poignant music. Again, a scene which (to me, anyway) was so over-the-top I could only bear to watch through squinted eyes.

In Pretty Woman, Richard Gere braved the dodgy part of town – and the height of the fire escape - to declare his undying love for his hooker. In Sweet Home Alabama, Reece Witherspoon tracks down (the again very gorgeous) Josh Lucas amidst a storm and lightning conductors. Hugh Grant bumbles through a race-across-town and braves public humiliation to declare his love to Julia Roberts in Notting Hill. And who can forget Bridget Jones, clad in only a coat and her underwear, chasing after her man in the snow; Meg Ryan rushing to the top of the Empire State Building in Sleepless in Seattle; or her cohort Billy Crystal racing through busy streets to seek her out in When Harry Met Sally.

I sense a theme. So, I ask, what is it about the grand gesture and romantic comedies? Is the grand gesture a pre-requisite for any ‘romcom’ or chick-flick? Does it guarantee a box office hit? These questions and more were enough to occupy my busy little mind for a spell and I found myself mulling over the genre and what it has to offer.

The basic plot of a romantic comedy, or indeed, even a straight romance generally involves our two protagonists (usually a man and a woman in mainstream cinema) meeting, then separating (due to a fight or problem of some kind) before ultimately reuniting. That is it in a nutshell. Romantic comedy 101. Of course there are a few laughs or weepy moments along the way. And, as evidenced by my top-of-the-head list, the reunion is often preceded by some spectacular show of affection. A grand gesture of sorts. It seems to be rare that happily-ever-after comes without the grand gesture, but it is my opinion that the conclusion is often more palatable when the film remains gesture-less. The recent Sex and the City movie didn’t involve anyone racing through the streets, but rather the (other oft-used) accidental meeting of the former lovers. Interestingly they were still able to declare their undying love and we were able to believe it – even without the fireworks and near-misses. An old favourite of mine, About Last Night, comes to mind as well, the protagonists meeting at the end and deciding to start anew. To me, simple and believable. Completely believable.

Perhaps I lead a sheltered life but – to the best of my knowledge – none of my friends or their acquaintances has had to embark on a car chase or throw themselves out of a boat to declare their love for another.

I realise we are living in an age where we demand more escapist themes from our films and literature. But while I am happy to watch and read about wizards and vampires, I want the stories that are supposed to be believable, to actually BE believable and not sufficiently cringe-worthy to make me regret the previous two hours. Is that too much to ask?

Playing with the big boys

I realise I usually write about the important stuff: television, movies and dieting, but sadly I find myself compelled to stoop to writing about politics. And this is because I have to admit to being a bit embarrassed. And though I am easily embarrassed, it is usually because of something I have said. Or done. Or worn.

This time it is not even really my fault. I am just tainted by association.

Having all-but-ignored news and current affairs for a few weeks (not sure why other than waning care factor) I have just had my parents visiting and so have been subjected to a barrage of television and radio news.

So this exposure, on top of my weekend newspaper ritual has highlighted a recent theme, which has resulted in my current state of embarrassment. I find myself wondering how on earth 'it' has come to this. And I ask, "When did we suddenly become so uncool?" And by 'we' I mean 'us'. Australia and Australians.

Okay, in all honesty we were probably never really considered (by anyone other than ourselves) to be that cool - having recently been led by Mr Magoo for what-seemed-like a millennium and by a few dodgy characters before that. But, at least we (in true Australian-style) showed a healthy disdain for what others thought of us. In that way we were too cool to be cool. Or something.

So, what has me currently shivering with distaste is how desperate we seem to have become. Like little puppies with tails wagging madly, waiting for someone to pat them; or like 50 year old women dressed like 20 year olds hanging out at a bar. We reek of desperation. To be liked. Or more specifically - we want to be liked by the right people. We wanna hang with the cool kids and play with the big boys. And by we, I mean our media and our politicians. I find myself shocked at how excited 'we' are to be seemingly moving from the kids table and invited to sit with the grown ups.

As I understand it, our Prime Minister (aka Kevvie), through his witty climate change and economic sustainability repartee has seemingly given us something to crow about on the world stage other than some acting A-listers, the occasional sporting hero and our pristine beaches. Well, so says our media. And, even the most avid of Kevvie-haters seem impressed at his recent performances which have catapulted us from southern-hemisphere-obscurity to centre stage.

But, when did we become such 'try-hards'? Such wannabes? As I pour through the weekend papers, I cannot tell if the media is truly excited that our first lady got to lunch with Michelle Obama or if the reports are indeed some tongue-in-cheek reference to our desperation to join the cool kids' table.

Sure I think Barack and Michelle Obama are pretty groovy and I suspect my mouth would drop to the floor at the sight of them, but surely other world leaders who are (on paper anyway) their equivalents should not be quite as awestruck by their presence. Shouldn't they be treating the US President as just another world leader rather than a superstar with whom they clamber to be photographed?

What does it say about us that - as a nation - we are thrilled at reports that Barack Obama seems to like our Kevvie? Assuming that we are now seen by those-that-matter as one of the big boys (when, in fact, we may fade into oblivion as the fickle international political agenda moves on). We are like a desperate singleton at home after a first date, planning the perfect wedding to the guy she has just met! I cringe when I think of how smug some of those gun-toting, homophobic, puritanical (sorry I am generalising) Americans can be, when leaders such as ours, salivate just to be in the same room as theirs.

I don't know if I blame Kevvie. After all, he doesn't seem quite as desperate as Prime Minister Magoo was with his (then) counterpart, and quite frankly Barack Obama is way cooler than President Bush (# 1 or 2) - not to mention, a million times more legitimate. Who can forget that period in Australian politics when George Jnr took Mr Magoo to his private ranch and declared him his deputy sheriff in the Asia/Pacific region? And surely the (then) government's manouvering during that time - including our role in Dubya's "War on Terror" to thwart the Axis of Evil - will remain one of our less stellar achievements.

But, this desperation to be 'accepted' still plays on my mind. "Aren't we better than that?" I ask hopefully. On one hand I feel that Kevvie is doing us proud in his own smug 'I am the smartest kid in school' Mandarin-speaking way; earning brownie points through legitimate intelligence and good policy, rather than brown-nosing and joining ill-advised wars for the hell of it.

On the other hand, Kevvie and our media are coming across as WAY too happy with our G20 performance which is why I actually find myself cringing with shame - not at our efforts to join the big boys; but at our desperation to do so. Aren't we cooler than that. Whatever happened to Aussie ambivalence? To not giving a damn what others thought of us?

Aspirations are fine and a legitimate voice in international politics is worth chasing, but I think we are walking a fine line. Hanging with the cool kids is a worthy goal, but we need to be careful that - as we have done in the past - we don't have to sell our souls to get there. If we do, perhaps we should think about focussing on our own backyard. Sometimes there's nothing wrong with being a big fish in a small pond.