Living the Romantic Comedy

Neo-Rom-Com Rules #2

Once upon a time, all romantic comedies ended in one way. Love and marriage went together like a horse and carriage, and this tradition lasted well into the 20th century. At the movies, while there were a few exceptions (see the sophisticated menage-a-trois finish to 1933's Design for Living), it took an atom bomb to finally topple this seemingly written-in-stone convention.

In the wake of both WWII's horrors and its more positive progressive notions, by the Sixties, audience were ready to acccept a rom-com that didn't employ a wedding as its inevitable explicit or implied resolution. The genre's progress was landmarked in 1967, when Two for the Road depth-charged the idea of marriage as a happy ending, and The Graduate ended with one of the most famous "now what?" shots in the history of cinema. A decade later, Annie Hall broke new rom-com ground with the notion that a couple's happy ending could in fact be a break-up.

Conventions have been bucked since then, but the romantic comedy's traditional fadeout has stubbornly persisted. And for the past near-15 years, the 21st century romantic comedy has been struggling to adjust to new realities of courtship and coupling. I would argue that the genre's widely exaggerated and misunderstood "demise" (i.e. a certain kind of cliched, stereotypical rom-com programmer is no longer Hollywood-profitable) was caused, in part, by the studio system's slavish adherence to the old marital happily ever after model. Given this, if you're trying to write a contemporary romantic comedy...

2. Reconsider your happy ending. 

This neo-rom-com rule follows naturally upon the first ("Make it relevant"). It's a brave new world out there in terms of finding a mate, and for that matter, deciding if one monogamous mate (or the act of mating) is really your romantic be-all or end-all. Still, it's surprising how in romantic comedy screenwriting circles, how many conventions remain to be busted.

Yes, we've recently had a rom-com hybrid in which boy met, lost, and ultimately didn't get Operating System. Yet with the new release Obvious Child, writer-director Gillian Robespierre has demonstrated that there are still some serious boundaries to be successfully broken.

[SPOILERS FOLLOW] This indie rom-com has a conventional setup: Our heroine, a stand-up comic, gets dumped. After the requisite 5 stages of grieving mash-up, she has a one-night stand. She soon discovers to her chagrin that she is with child... and that's where, for once, all bets are off. Because Donna (Jenny Slate) doesn't want to be a mom, and - right wing conservative nightmare that it is - the movie wholeheartedly supports her choice.

I wish Child was a triumph of great filmmaking. Its style is even more conservative, and less imaginative, than decent contemporary TV (Louie, as an unfair example, leaves it in the dust). And the script exposes just how bedrock some traditions truly are, in that Donna is provided with a too-good-to-be-true hero (played by Jake Lacy) to soften and Hollywood-ize what would otherwise be a darker and perhaps more realistic denouement.

Nonetheless, let's give Robespierre her props. Child has some real laughs and some truly poignant moments. More importantly, this is a brave and bold movie, in that it's willing to embrace the idea - unlike the overrated Juno - that abortion does not have to be tragic; that keeping one's child, however initially unwanted, does not have to be the inevitable happy ending of a romantic comedy. For this alone, kudos are warranted.

And the film serves as a test case for screenwriting courage. Obvious Child, a Sundance selection that's garnered good reviews and is performing well, suggests that going against the perceived grain can be a good way to go. This is an indicator that audiences are not only ready to venture outside of old school boundaries, in terms of what "happy ending" can mean, but that they welcome a fresh and irreverent interpretation of it.

Does your heroine have to get her guy, to be happy in the end? Does your hero have to get his girl for keeps? Does marriage even have to be on the table, in 2014? How do you define "happiness," on your own unique terms, when it comes to romance and relationships?

These are the kinds of question a rom-com screenwriter ought to be asking. And the answers, if honest, unflinching, and willing to be provocative, may not only make for a better movie, it may be a crucial factor in helping your movie to get made.

Wild Berries

The last time I went to teach in Sweden it was the dead of winter. It was dark when I arose in my hotel in Visby, a cobblestoned, walled city in Gotland, and soon dark when I was done with the day's classes. This time, toward the end of May, it was sunny every day and well into the evening. Wildflowers were blooming, and when I got my ride from Visby to the School from Arvid Unsgaard, a pixie spirit in full-grown male form who runs the writing side of the School's program, we passed fields of brilliant yellow amidst the green.

The School was just getting its act together when I came there 2 years ago. In the time since, Arvid and his colleagues have worked wonders. My new students were scarily smart, and fearless about writing and rewriting in a way that could kick some of my Los Angeles students' butts. While schooling them in a 2-year program, Arvid has been importing occasional American screenwriters/instructors like me to teach, in person and through web-cam classes, leaving the students savvy about the craft and business of writing and insatiable for more information.

 

There are things the Swedes don't understand about present-day Hollywood that proved a challenge to explain, but that's not surprising. I've been working in the studio system for 22 years and I still can't tell you exactly what it is that a studio executive does. But if there's anything specifically "Swedish" about these young writers' sensibilities, it's that that they seem singularly unafraid to pursue their particular visions on the screenplay page, regardless of whatever rules, regulations, and obstacles the industry status quo is ready to put in their way.

I won't betray confidences by divulging the specifics of just how wackily weird some of their scripts are, so you'll have to take my word for it: a few of these screenwriters may be just talented and crazy enough to get somewhere with their work. And indeed, plans are afoot to get the writing and production wings of the School to collaborate on a TV series for Swedish public TV, and after that... sky's the limit, and the sky in these Northern countries is vast.

At any rate, this post is mainly an excuse to put up all these photos of “my” Swedish screenwriters from the School. That’s Amanda, Matilda, Silvia, Thabo, Martin, Hugo, Amanda, Camilla, Anya, Kalle, Rob, and Arvid. I like to look at them. They give me hope.

 

Nuggets

Let's get the hyperbole out of the way: No one, nowhere - not on TV, in the movies, in theater, in any spoken medium - is writing romantic comedy right now as brilliantly as Louis C.K. 

Much as we (I'm encompassing me, fans, the people who gave Louis two Emmy awards, and perhaps you) may have enjoyed the first three seasons of Louie, what he's been doing in Season 4 is nothing short of mind-blowing. The first two episodes were perfect little stand-alone short features, the second of them like American Fellini, and the third is already culturally historic due to the Fat Girl's monologue. 

Then, in a series of episodes (titled "Elevator"), Louie returned to the ongoing linear story format, the central storyline being: Louie meets and falls in love with Amia (Eszter Balint), a Hungarian woman who doesn't speak English. It's the real thing - a rarity for Louie - blessed and cursed with its finite nature: she has to go back home, where a husband and child await, and there's no negotiating. In last night's episode, as promised, after a mere month of bittersweet joy, Amia left, with Louie bereft.

One of the deep pleasures of this season has been the recurring role Louie has written for Charles Grodin, a world-class curmudgeon and one of the great comedic actors of our age. His character, Dr. Bigelow, grudgingly assisted Louie when he had back trouble early on, and has become an unwilling mentor figure to our hapless hero. In last night's encounter, Louie accosted Grodin as he was walking his three-legged dog, and told the good doctor of his terrible situation:

Louie: Look, I liked the feeling of being in love with her, I liked it. But now she’s gone and I miss her, and it sucks! And I didn’t think it was going to be this bad, and I feel like - Why even be happy, if it’s just gonna lead to this?  It wasn’t worth it. 

Dr. Bigelow: (shakes his head, grimly smiling) Misery… is wasted on the miserable. 

Louie: What?

Dr. Bigelow: Y’know… I’m not entirely sure what your name is, but you are a classic idiot. You think spending time with her, kissing her, having fun with her, you think that’s what it was all about? That was love?

Louie: Yeah!

Dr. Bigelow: This is love. Missing her because she’s gone, wanting to die – You’re so lucky, you’re like a walking poem. Would you rather be some kind of a… a fantasy, some kind of a… a Disney ride? Is that what you want? Don’t you see, this is the good part, this is what you’ve been digging for all this time. Now you finally have it in your hand, this sweet – nugget – of love. Sweet, sad, love, and you want to throw it away. You’ve got it all wrong.

Louie: I thought this was the bad part.

Dr. Bigelow: No! The bad part is when you forget her, when you don’t care about her, when you don’t care about anything. The bad part is coming, so enjoy the heartbreak while you can, for God’s sakes!... Lucky son of a bitch, I haven’t had my heart broken since Marilyn walked out on me, since I was thirty-five years old. What I would give to have that feeling again…! Y’know, I’m not really sure what your name is, but you may be the single most boring person I have ever met. No offense.

Critics throw around the word "Chekhovian" a lot, but in the finale of last night's penultimate episode (Louie's been running them in twos every Monday night on FX, because: he can), a scene in a restaurant where Louie and Amia finally transcended the frustrating wordlessness of their relationship, Louis C.K. went head to head with Anton C., and what he delivered was every bit as funny, sad, and soul-moving as anything Masha, Vanya, Sonya, and the rest ever said or did.

So if you're a fan of romance and comedy and/or a human with a beating heart, and you haven't been on top of this? Go forth and watch Louie, and be sublimely fulfilled. 

Writing When You're Not

Having recently proselytized about my monk-like dedication to The Work, blathering on about the wisdom of diligently writing for twenty minutes a day, I think it's only fair that I own up to my own failure: there were a couple of days this week when that didn't happen.

Do I proclaim myself a hypocrite? The typical "do as I say but not as I do" doodoo-head blowhard? Nope. I'm craftier than that, insidious even - I offer you the ultimate rationalization for such aberrant Lazy Fucking Slacker behavior: I know how to write when I'm not writing.

[Insert maniacal laughter] The premise is obvious: all work and no play makes Jack an internet troll or some other brand of bore. The truth of the writing life is yes, you do have to get out of the house now and then. Suggested exercises include walking, breathing, breaking bread with someone, perhaps even breaking things (Know of a good local Smash Room? Highly recommended).

Sometimes the best counterpoint to the monk-like mind-work that comes with The Writer's Way is do as a zen monk does - that is, empty your mind. To simply sit outside and contemplate a cloud can be a highly productive process. 

That's because one great aspect to writing every day (most days) is that once you've set it in motion, the work doesn't stop when you pull yourself away from your desk. While the left brain's on a break, the right keeps having at it. Which is why many writers I know often have their best lightbulb moments in the middle of majorly not-writing moments. I do great work in the shower, while biking on the beach. And I'm not alone in this. Can I get a witness?

When you're out in the world, you think about other things while your subconscious is working on whatever the problems are in the script.  Once, when I really got stuck on something, I took a weekend off and went to Santa Barbara.  I wasn't thinking about it and woke up in the middle of the night suddenly understanding where I had gone wrong and what I had to change.  Sometimes, your mind has to be released in order to get past things, like a muscle that knots up so tight, there isn't enough blood going through it.  It has to relax in order for the blood to flow again.

-- Amy Holden Jones, in Karl Iglesias's 101 Habits of Highly Successful Screenwriters.

And the social aspect of stepping away is nothing to take for granted. Talking to a real live person in real time (about things besides writing) is a good idea, because living in your head for too long a time can put you on a slippery slope.

The solitude of writing is quite frightening. It's quite close sometimes to madness, one just disappears for a day and loses touch. The ordinary action of taking a dress down to the dry cleaner's or spraying some plants infected with greenfly is a very sane and good thing to do. It brings one back, so to speak.  It also brings the world back.

-- Nadine Gordimer

It also gives you good material:

If a man who writes feels like going to a zoo, he should by all means go to a zoo. He might even be lucky, as I once was when I paid a call at the Bronx Zoo and found myself attending the birth of twin fawns. It was a fine sight, and I lost no time writing a piece about it.

-- E.B. White

No event is wasted on a writer at work, even when there's no tablet at hand. Ultimately, of course, the real trick here is finding that hard-sought, wonderful thing: a sense of balance. Writing when you're not writing only really works when you're doing it in the context of doing your daily work. Otherwise, speaking of slippery slopes...

There was a period last fall when every time I began to write, I went into a perfect blank-minded euphoria, where I stared out the window and felt a love for and oneness with everything. I sat in this state, sometimes for the whole time I had planned to write. I thought to myself, "Lo and behold, I am becoming enlightened!  This is much more important than writing, and besides this is where all writing leads." After this had gone on for quite a while, I asked [Zen teacher] Katagiri Roshi about it. He said,"Oh, it's just laziness. Get to work."

-- Natalie Goldberg